


You Cast, I Charge

by SomethingBlue42



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angel Castiel (Supernatural), Angels are Dicks (Supernatural), Animal Transformation, Balloons, Blow Jobs, Bottom Castiel/Top Dean Winchester, Brief Castiel/Becky Rosen, Canon-Typical Violence, Castiel and Dean Winchester First Meet, Castiel and Dean Winchester Have a Profound Bond, Cat Castiel (Supernatural), Catstiel, First Meetings, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Implied/Referenced Torture, Incubus Castiel (Supernatural), M/M, Meet-Cute, Sam Winchester is a Unicorn Balloon, Sam Winchester is dead (sort of), Spells & Enchantments, Telepathic Bond, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Top/Bottom Versatile Castiel/Dean Winchester, Truth Spells, Witch Dean Winchester, Witch's Familiar Castiel (Supernatural), Witchcraft, consensual non-consent (mind altering substance)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-16 11:53:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 28,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29331870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomethingBlue42/pseuds/SomethingBlue42
Summary: Dean Winchester just wants to fix cars and work in his garden, maybe use whatever mojo he has to pop a top when he can't find his bottle opener. Sam was the ambitious one, the powerful Warlock and Coven darling, though nothing could save him in the end (or so it seems.)After averting the apocalypse, the Angels have questions about what happened to their brother in Stull Cemetary and as a natural witch, the Grand Coven is obligated to provide protection, though it's clear to Dean they'd rather see him rot.And then Castiel walks into his shop.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Comments: 5
Kudos: 21
Collections: Dean Winchester Big Bang 2021





	1. Meet-Cute

**Author's Note:**

> Super duper thanks to JenniferB for the AMAZING artwork that goes along with this story and a big, big thank you to WriteMeALoveSong for the beta!

Dean was under the hood of a late model sedan when he felt a shift in the air that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He rested his hands on the frame, tilting his head to glance towards the front of the shop, eyes narrowing infinitesimally. The kid he hired for the front desk was visible through the tempered glass but whoever he was talking to wasn’t. Jack smiled at something the visitor said, then laughed, brushing at his shoulder as a mylar balloon bumped against him from behind.

Dean grabbed a rag, wiping at his hands as he took measured steps toward the front office. The balloon bumped against Jack again, the kid ignoring it this time, and Dean could hear the rumble of a low voice though he couldn’t make out what it was saying. Dean pushed the door open, head bowed, muttering a near-silent _Christo_ under his breath as he stepped in. 

When he lifted his head again, he took in a startlingly handsome face before sweeping up, but there was no aura around the man in front of the counter. Dean looked down again as if concentrating on wiping at his hands while he pushed himself outward, using his power as if scenting the air. 

“Jack, go let the delivery guy in.” Dean gestured over his shoulder, still looking at his hands, then glanced up when Jack didn’t move. The subtle color around his head was shifting from goldenrod to a muddy purple, but Dean didn’t need to read his aura to know the young man was confused. His face showed that plainly.

“But-” Jack was cut off by a shrill ring from the very back of the shop, muted by the thin wall separating the garage from the front office. Jack shook his head. “I dunno how you do that, man, but it’s freaky.”

Dean chuckled and clapped him on the shoulder as he passed. When Dean looked at the visitor again, he was still smiling but felt it slowly melt from his face when he found the stranger focused on something over his shoulder. His eyes were an unsettling blue, and they tightened as his head tipped to the side, curious. Dean followed his gaze and landed on the balloon that now hovered just behind the desk at eye-level, the cartoon unicorn’s eyes seeming to stare back. Dean cleared his throat as he grabbed the string and tugged it back, maneuvering it over the credenza behind the desk.

“Who’s birthday?” The stranger’s voice was like gravel crunching under snow tires. Dean glanced over his shoulder again at the offensively pink balloon emblazoned with “Happy Birthday.”

“m’ brother’s.” Dean felt the balloon drift into his shoulder. He twisted his mouth to the side and let out a short puff of air that pushed it away from him. “Help you?”

The visitor remained silent, eyes searching Dean’s, and Dean could feel something pass through his mind like a specter, but it was gone before he could put up any real form of defense. The stranger crossed his arms and brought a finger to his full bottom lip, regarding Dean curiously.

“You offer services other than mechanics, yes?”

Dean blinked. “We do bodywork, yeah?” He crossed his arms over his chest, shifting on his feet as he straightened to his full height. “You got a body that needs fixed?” Dean gave him a once over for good measure and tried to ignore the fact that he liked what he saw.

A smile threatened at the corners of the stranger’s lips. “Perhaps… Though I was referring to your apothecary services.”

The balloon bumped Dean’s shoulder again, and this time he whacked it behind him with the back of his hand. “What did you say your name was?”

A real smile now, all gums and teeth. “I didn’t.” He reached out a hand. “Castiel.”

Dean’s eyes were weary, tilting his head to glance at the man’s palm before slotting his hand into Castiel’s grip. As soon as their skin touched, it was as if they’d been sealed together, bodies jerking backward like the connection was simultaneously trying to blow them apart and hold them together. The air was electric, lights flickering and a gust of air from nowhere sent a carefully sorted stack of invoices fluttering around the room. 

Then, just like that, it was over. Their hands sprung apart as if each was the opposite end of a magnet. Castiel looked down at his palm, flexing his fingers with a tilt of his head and a look of serious contemplation on his face. Dean could only gape back at him. When Castiel shifted as if he were going to take a step back, Dean’s hand shot out, closing around the other man’s wrist, and those intense blue eyes crashed into green.

“What are you?” Dean demanded, feeling the warmth of Castiel’s skin (not a glamour) and the thrum of a pulse under his thumb (not dead).

A sharp thwack from the corner turned both their heads, finding an old shop broom now on the floor. Dean swallowed, and Castiel hummed, gently twisted his wrist from Dean’s grip. “Company’s coming…” 

Dean looked over at him, and Castiel tore his gaze away from the broom to meet the other man’s eyes. A look of understanding passed over Castiel’s face before he tipped his chin up, sucking a breath in through his nose as if steeling himself. 

“I’m not gonna ask you again.” The threat was out of Dean’s mouth before he realized he was going to say it and his brows creased at the realization that Castiel had reacted before Dean’s threat had even passed through his mind. 

Castiel held up his hands and took a cautioning step back, his eyes holding Dean’s. Everything about the man was signaling that he was no threat as if Castiel could sense that Dean’s fingers were beginning to tingle, that the back of his neck and the base of his spine were growing warm as he drew his power forward. But that was impossible. 

“You’re going to get a visit from Rowena-”

“How do you know Rowena?” Dean’s voice was sharp as a slap. Castiel pressed his lips together, pumping his hands gently. Dean swallowed again, recognizing the gesture as one Sam often used to get him to calm down. Dean shifted from foot to foot.

“She’s an acquaintance.” Castiel’s voice was a calm rumble, and Dean felt oddly soothed. “I’m sorry for… I didn’t mean to cause you distress.” Castiel’s eyes flicked back over Dean’s shoulder. “I just needed to see… something for myself.” Castiel took another cautious step back and bent ever so slightly at the waist, but his eyes continued to hold Dean’s. “I’ll go now.”

Castiel turned to exit, his hand twisting over the doorknob though Dean noted he hadn’t actually touched it. At least that explained why the wind chimes in the shop hadn’t sounded. The balloon was back at Dean’s shoulder, hovering close so that the string brushed over his forearm. 

“What do you think?” Dean muttered, not turning his head, still watching Castiel through the glass as he walked across the lot, looking both ways before he crossed the street. 

The balloon merely bobbed in the air. Dean snorted and rolled his eyes.

“Right, listen to what Rowena has to say. Because her advice has been _so_ helpful thus far.”

Dean glared at the stupid cartoon eyes before turning to bang open the door and head back into the garage.


	2. In the Garden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rowena drops by with some advice and an offer.

Dean was in the garden at midnight, dirt staining the knees of his jeans as he carefully snipped sage from the central stalk. He was deep in the salvage yard, stacks of junk cars protecting him from sight as strings of Devil’s Root and salt lines protected him from enemies. 

“Your garden is flourishing.”

Dean didn’t even flinch. “Rowena.” A small shift inside his head and she was able to step into the circle. 

“Sage, mullein, thistle.” Rowena clicked her tongue. “You’ve grown paranoid in your solitude.” Dean didn’t reply, but he saw Rowena’s slippers appear in his peripheral, her dress sashaying over the toes as she moved to stand near him. “Though I don’t believe I know what magical property carrots are known for.”

Dean pulled a tufty, green stalk from the ground and ran a hand over the dirty orange tuber, leaving it preternaturally clean. Dean bit off the end. “Sometimes I get hungry.”

Rowena let out a laugh that sounded like wind chimes. It made Dean uneasy. “I always liked you. It’s that sense of humor. The others don’t always appreciate it but-”

“Can I help you with something?” He peeked up at Rowena, schooling his face to remain neutral, his defenses high. Her aura was its typical turquoise but hazy, mottled with gray and white. Dean readied himself for the lie.

She sighed. “Yes. Fine.” Rowena lifted her hands as if annoyed by his impatience. “The Assembly is going to request your presence at an exploratory hearing.”

Dean sat back on his heels and lifted his face to the sky, breathing in through his nose and out his mouth to calm himself but his fingers tingled with his annoyance. “By request, you mean demand, right?” He looked up into Rowena’s pointed face. “And if I tell ’em to kiss my ass?”

Rowena gave him a prim smile. “I’d advise against that. I agreed to help you, but I’m not going to clean up your messes.”

_ Like your brother did  _ went unsaid, but Dean still sneered. “What’s it about? The exploratory hearing.”

Rowena shifted, rocking back and forth on her feet. “I’ve said enough, I think.”

Dean squinted up at her, incredulous. “So, you just told me something that I would have found out myself when the summons arrived. Sam really  _ paid _ you for this kind of information?”

“Sam was special.” Rowena’s tone was rich, her eyes glowing purple for a millisecond before returning to their standard brown.

Dean rolled his eyes so hard it hurt, nodding his head and grumbling under his breath as he ripped a few weeds up. His brother had told him about his and Rowena’s - what had he called it? -  _ arrangement _ -and Dean had been disgusted but also a little proud. He didn’t know his brother had it in him.

“Unless you’d like to reconsider my offer?”

Dean snorted, lifting his head to stare off into the dark, teeth sinking into his bottom lip to hold back the scathing retort that wanted to escape. “Sorry, sweetheart. My dick ain’t for sale.”

“Shame.” The word rolled out of Rowena’s mouth slower than expected, her Scottish burr seeming to caress the vowel in a way that made Dean uncomfortable. “Would you consider a trade?”

Dean sighed up at her. With the full moon behind her head, haloing her fiery hair in soft white light, she almost looked angelic. Almost. “What kind of trade?”

“Information for some of your wares.”

Dean glanced around the garden, cataloging everything he had growing there and how dangerous it could be in Rowena’s hands. Finally, he stood, wiping his hands together to shake off most of the dirt before wiping them again on his thighs. “What can I get for you?” 

Rowena’s grin was wicked. “Samuel spoke often of your Apple Cinnamon Jelly…”

Dean’s mouth popped open. “You want some of my  _ preserves _ ?” He let out a bark of a laugh he hadn’t meant to and crossed his arms over his chest, planting his elbow on his forearm so he could prop his chin on his knuckles. “Well, that’s unexpected.” He threw the trowel down so it stuck sharply in the dirt. “I’ve got a couple-a jars in the cellar.”

Rowena smiled and stuck out her hand. Dean eyed it, wiping his own on his jeans one more time before grasping it. Dean felt the pulse of heat in his palm that accompanied the deal, his hand seeming to meld with Rowena’s for a brief second before they were able to release each other. Dean didn’t like sealing deals. No matter how often he’d done it, his hand still felt sticky afterward, like a half-ass attempt to clean up after jerking off.

“The angels have put in a formal request for an inquiry.”

Dean scoffed. “What do those feathered dicks want?” 

The air shifted, and when he looked at Rowena again, her aura was pale and dingy, beginning to bleed brown at the edges betraying her impatience. “I’ve convinced the Grand Coven that given what you and your brother have done-“

“Stopped the apocalypse, you mean?”

“-is enough to extend you the courtesy of their sponsorship in the matter, despite your utter disdain for them and our community.” Rowena bit her bottom lip, eyes sliding over Dean’s frame in a way that made him shift from foot to foot. “You really should be thanking me.”

Dean snorted. “Yeah, right. So, what does the God Squad want, and why are they bothering with the Assembly? Last time they just zapped me up to a green room, and-” He cut himself off as Rowena’s smile grew wide.

“Yes, how  _ did _ you escape in time to reach the cemetery?”

“They left the door unlocked. It was dumb luck.” Dean gave her a tart smile

Rowena sighed as if the conversation were burdensome. “They’re substantially weaker without Michael, and God is still nowhere to be found. You tore up the Grand Story without providing an ending. They want answers.”

“Well, I sure as shit don’t have any. They’re the ones that came after my brother an’ me. Sorry they got Daddy issues, but it ain’t my problem.”

“The Grand Coven agrees. They want to provide protection-“

“Don’t need it.”

“-and have appealed to the Assembly on your behalf. They’ll likely institute some kind of monitoring system.”

“Not happening.”

“Oh, it will whether you agree to it or not. If you agree, you at least have some leeway in  _ who _ is doing the monitoring.” Rowena reached for his hands, taking them in hers, and Dean lifted his eyes, trying to mask his suspicion as the turquoise around her thinned back to a blue-tinged gray. “I could vouch for you.” Dean mashed his lips together as she let a fingernail drag down the center of his chest, “teach you some things…”

The hair on Dean’s arms rose, spine straightening even more though he was already towering over the small woman. His voice was gruff and final. “No.”

“Witches like you work better with a partner-”

“No.”

“-and it would provide some stability for you during this-”

“No.”

“-period of transition. If you’ll just-”

“ _ No _ !”

A stack of cars creaked dangerously behind her, glass breaking as Dean’s anger got away from him. Both looked up at the stack, Dean’s mind scrambling to pull back, but he was distracted by a shadow running down the side, hoping from surface to surface until it thunked to the ground and disappeared. Dean looked to Rowena again who’s gaze was on the same spot where the cat disappeared. 

“You  _ really _ need to get that under control.” Rowena’s voice was all snarl, and Dean closed his eyes, sucked a deep breath in through his nose.

His thoughts turned inward, and he was in the same place, among the towering stacks of cars, next to the garden, but in his mind it was always twilight there, the sky a dusky purple with residual streaks of red and orange, fireflies winking in and out of sight. He turned north, walking the maze-like dirt paths through the stacks of junkers until he emerged in the grassless front yard of a dilapidated farmhouse with boarded-up windows on the second and third floors. As he climbed the steps to the porch, he could hear a radio playing somewhere inside, a Zepplin song, and he entered without pause, walking through the cluttered walkway and through the living room to pass into the kitchen at the back of the house. 

On the stove, a pot of water was boiling madly, sloshing water over the sides and hissing as it met the flames of the burner. Dean reached for it, grabbing the handle as he flicked off the burner. The second he set it back down on one of the other burners to cool, he was snapped back to the present, lungs sucking in a gasp of air as his eyes opened wide on the shadowy clearing, made all the more sinister by the long shadows and Rowena’s turquoise aura tinging indigo. 

She lifted her eyebrows in question. “Well,  _ are _ you?”

Dean blinked. Had she asked him a question? “Am I what?”

“I  _ said _ , ‘Are you reconsidering my offer?’”

Dean gave her a flat look. “No. When’s the hearing?”

Rowena pressed her lips together and huffed a breath out her nose. “A few days’ time. I’ll be by the regular spot to retrieve you.” She flicked a hand, her face disgusted as if she didn’t know why she bothered.

“And if I’m not there?”

Her smile was placating. “You’d be hunted down, of course.”

Dean returned a rueful smile of his own. “Oh, of  _ course _ .” Dean rubbed a hand over his face before he let it fall to his side with a soft  _ thwap. _ “Well, since I have no choice…” He snorted and shook his head.

Rowena’s smile was a little too amused to be sympathetic; plus, her aura had swirled back to it’s deep turquoise with a yellow haze. “Don’t be ridiculous, dear. You have plenty of choices. You just don’t like any of them.”


	3. The Ethereal Assembly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean goes before the Assembly and sees a familiar face.

Two days later, he received his summons, and after closing the shop for the day, he drove out past the county line where the prairie spread, flat and lush, as far as the eye could see. Rowena met him at the designated crossroads with two sorcerers in tow, their fingertips already sparking in anticipation of a fight. Dean secured the car and went quietly. He’d promised Sam he wouldn’t do anything reckless, and trying to take down two sorcerers and a three-hundred-year-old witch single-handedly was definitely reckless.

The descent into Hell had been a surprise but took less than five minutes. Dean was still short of breath and sweating by the time they reached the main chamber of the imperial palace. A dark hall that Dean felt was better suited for a high-fantasy novel than a parlor for the King of Hell stretched high overhead, but the throne was gone from the stone dais. Instead, six figures of varying ages and origins were seated behind a high bench curved around the room. The sorcerers stayed back to flank the door, and Rowena rounded the bench to take her seat at the center.

“I swear I just _had_ to use the Patronus charm or those damn dementors were gonna suck the soul outta somebody.” Dean swaggered to the middle of the room, shoved his hands in his pockets and smirked.

“Dean Winchester, you have been called before the Ethereal Assembly—” Rowena began, but Dean interrupted.

“Yeah, why are we having this down here?” Dean looked around the room, eyes searching the shadows and found nothing but dark.

“Location is unimportant, _Mage_ ,” an older man snapped, and Dean rolled his eyes.

“Now, now Ignatius, don’t be sour.” Rowena waved a hand at the old Warlock. “Dean is a witch through and through. We’ve seen evidence of that with our own eyes.”

Dean looked down at his boots and scuffed at the stone beneath him, producing a loud squeak that made most behind the bench cringe. “What’s this about?”

“I was going to tell you before you interrupted, dear.” Rowena scolded primly, her eyes a warning. “Dean Winchester, you have been called before the Ethereal Assembly at the request of the Angels of Heaven to answer for your crimes against-“

Dean leaned forward at the waist, cocking his ear towards the bench as his eyes narrowed. “Ex _cuse_ me? What _crimes?_ ”

Rowena gave him an exasperated look, her aura flashing a warning. “Your crimes against their species and the murder of their brother.”

Dean’s jaw fell open. “The murder of _their_ brother? _What about my brother?”_

Rowena waved her hands at him, her smile strained. “It’s merely a formality. We’ll get into the details during the inquisition. How do you plead?”

“No, fuck that. You can’t just-”

“How do you _plead,_ Winchester?” A younger man leaned forward, leering from the bench down at Dean. 

Dean barely got his hand up fast enough to try and muffle the snort of laughter when he saw the large, droopy flesh of the Warlock’s ear. “You still haven’t figured out how to get rid of that elephant ear yet, Cato?” Dean clicked his tongue.

“Dean…” Rowena’s voice drew his attention back, her eyes flashing purple. Dean blinked up at her. 

“Uh… not guilty?”

“Splendid.” Rowena beamed, sunshine yellow framing her head. “Your trial is set for the winter solstice, 7:30 a.m. Until that time, I will release you on your own recognizance-”

“I have a problem with that.” Cato lifted a hand, and Dean sighed, rolling his eyes. “While I’m incredibly grateful for his efforts in avoiding the apocalypse-“

“Could have fooled me,” Dean muttered.

“-Dean Winchester is still an untrained, volatile witch prone to outbursts of magical violence.” Cato gestured at his ear and looked to each side of the bench. “He’s a loose cannon. Sam at least had some kind of leash on him-”

“Hey!” Dean growled, fingertips sparking at the mention of his brother.

“-but without him, Dean Winchester is a liability.” Cato leaned back, folding his hands over his stomach. 

Rowena’s face was pinched as she smiled down the bench at the Warlock. “The Coven has already made its decision on the matter, Cato.”

Cato’s face darkened. “He should be held until he can pass the Dark Trials as every other practicing witch.”

“So you’re trying to put me in some witchy jail? Awesome.” Dean threw his arms out. “And you wonder why I don’t want anything to do with your stupid coven.”

“The Grand Coven _has_ voted to provide assistance. The angels aren’t to be dallied with, as you well know, Mr. Winchester, and given your lack of training, we are remiss to allow someone with The Gift to be subjugated by another entity. We do request that you participate in a few basic aptitude tests.”

Dean snorted again, crossing his arms tight over his chest. “I’m sure you do. Ain’t gonna happen.”

“Alright then,” Rowena spread her hands across the desktop, her head tilted daintily, “I request that the Assembly appoint an advisor.” Dean squeaked, and Rowena sighed at him. “It would be for your own safety.”

“I’d be happy to hold him here,” An oily looking demon in a sharp suit, seated at the end of the row, had leaned forward to look down the table. His chair was on the floor instead of the dais, so he was lower than the rest.

Dean’s blood ran cold.

“Dean Winchester cannot be held in Hell.” 

The low voice made everyone’s head turn in the opposite direction where at the other end of the dais in another seat lower than the rest sat - Dean blinked startled - the man from his shop.

Ignatius leaned forward, eyes narrowed down the row. “Need I remind you, Castiel, that your place on this Assembly is by invitation only.” Castiel lowered his head, a sardonic smile pulling at his lips. “An invitation that can be _rescinded_ at any moment.”

“Yes, yes. I’m all too aware of what can be stripped from me, Ignatius, thank you.” Castiel lifted his eyes to meet Dean’s. “Dean is still a witch and has all the rights that come with that status. He cannot be held here without a conviction, you cannot convict without a trial, and the trial cannot be held before the winter solstice. I don’t make the rules.”

“Yes, but _we_ do,” Cato snarled, and Castiel leaned forward to glare at him. 

“You’d need a unanimous vote to overturn it, and I highly doubt everyone on this council would risk losing their liberty to railroad a single witch of the first degree. Never mind how powerful his brother is.” Castiel winced when Dean’s jaw clenched even though Castiel was still looking at Cato. “Was.”

“Do you wish to take responsibility for him then, Castiel?” A man leaned over the bench, a teasing lilt in his tone. Dean didn’t know what he was but knew the body was merely a vessel. His aura was fractured like broken glass. Castiel looked down at his hands. “You wish him to be your sovereign?”

Uneasiness slithered down Dean’s spine, the feeling somewhat foreign though he didn’t understand why and his brows creased, glancing over at Castiel. He had leaned back in his seat, his lips puckering in displeasure as the rest of the Assembly tittered.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Zachariah.” Rowena tipped her head towards the man, and Dean didn’t like the way her aura thinned. “He doesn’t need a _Familiar_ he just needs a mentor.” Rowena’s eyes returned to Dean, a Cheshire grin pulling at her lips as her aura began to bleed pink. “A seasoned witch to guide him.”

“I think a Familiar is _exactly_ what he needs.” Zachariah’s smile was shark-like as he leaned back in his chair. “And it’s high time you took a sovereign, Castiel.”

“His… _sovereign?_ ” Dean inquired, cocking his head to the side, glaring back and forth between Castiel and Rowena as others on the council seemed to mumble in agreement. “I need what, now? _”_

Cato snorted. “A Familiar is a witch’s-”

“I know what it is.” Dean’s eyes cut hatefully to the saggy-eared Warlock. He held the glare for a moment before he blinked his eyes to Castiel, who was looking back at him stoically. Dean’s eyes swept the table, a mixture of auras intact and distorted, impossible to get an accurate read, but Dean found he didn’t need it; all seemed pleased with the idea. “I don’t need a pet.” 

Dean was distracted by a strange sense of displeasure, suddenly disgruntled in a way that didn’t feel natural to him. He was - his brow creased - offended, without understanding why. Dean’s eyes met Castiel’s again, and he was caught in a stormy blue stare. _I am not a pet,_ floated like a speech bubble across the front of his consciousness. 

“Is that necessary?” Castiel addressed the question to Dean before turning to look down the row at the Assembly, almost as an afterthought. “If he doesn’t want-”

“My offer still stands.” The demon’s eyes flicked to black when Dean tipped his chin up at the creature. “Haven’t touched that rack since you left, Dean. About time it was put back to good use.”

Dean fought the tremor that ran through him, but he felt his face blanch, his stomach roll over itself, and struggled to remain present, his mind trying to pull him back to the salvage yard, to the garden. He sucked in a steadying breath. It didn’t matter how much time and distance Dean put between himself and his forty years in Hell; he still couldn’t completely control the visceral reaction at being threatened to be sent back. He felt a sense of calm nudging at his anxiety, crowding into it as if telling it to make room. Castiel’s eyes were on him. 

“Do you rescind your offer, Castiel?” Zachariah leaned over the bench, a malicious glee in his tone. 

Dean felt frustration emanating out at him like waves of heat. “Of course not. I was merely wondering-”

“Don’t wonder.” Zachariah’s tone was sharp. “It’s what got you here in the first place.”

Castiel leaned back in his chair again, pressed his lips together tight, and bowed his head.

“Wait… wait, is _he_ on trial for something too?” Dean jerked his head at Castiel. 

“No, lesser beings are ours to do with as we see fit.” Zachariah sat back in his chair and folded his hands over his stomach.

Dean’s eyebrows rose, regarding the older vessel with disdain. He didn’t like this guy, and he was pretty sure that feeling was all his, not coming from anywhere else. Rowena looked contemplative, her eyes cutting from Dean to Castiel and back. The air around her head swirled indigo, pink, and turquoise, curiosity mixing with her own desires.

“I still think-” Rowena began but was immediately cut off by Zachariah, and her mouth settled itself into a thin line of displeasure.

“All in favor of Castiel taking Dean Winchester as his sovereign?” Zachariah lifted a hand, as did Ignatius, the vampire, the human-like creature, and a woman with iridescent eyes and an aura that was shrouded and unnatural.

“Wait a minute.” Cato held up a hand, leaning forward as Dean opened his mouth. “Shake hands.”

Dean blinked at Cato and then looked to Castiel, sharing a blink with him. Zachariah snorted. “If they were bonded, we would have known as soon as Winchester walked in the room.”

Dean rolled his eyes as the quiet witch with the shrouded aura spoke, “They need to touch.” She pressed her hands together as if in prayer, an example.

Dean scoffed, anxiety flailing in him again, “Look, I’ve had just about enough of-”

“It’s all right,” Castiel raised his voice over the grumbling that followed, standing from his chair to step around the table.

Dean watched as Castiel cleared the space between them with a lithe grace Dean usually only noticed in women. He was tall, almost as tall as Dean with a runner’s body, thin but likely holding a wiry strength most would underestimate. Castiel stepped all the way into Dean’s personal space. Blue eyes locked on green. Castiel held up his right hand, palm facing outward, and Dean lifted his left, feeling ridiculous. 

_It_ is _rather ridiculous_. 

Dean blinked hard, watching Castiel’s lips twitch in the barest hint of a smile before turning serious again. Their hands met, fingers aligning, and Dean jumped as his sweaty, calloused palm met the smooth, dry skin of Castiel’s. They stood there for a beat, holding each other’s gaze while absolutely nothing happened.

“See,” Zachariah gestured. “No bond.”

Castiel sucked his bottom lip into his mouth as they turned to face the front again, his shoulders slumping a bit. Cato lifted his hand, a casual gesture, and Rowena huffed, pushing her hand into the air reluctantly. 

“Well,” Rowena began with a great breath, her aura buzzing with displeasure. “Gentlemen, I hope that this proves to be a valuable kinship.”

Silence followed her statement. Dean looked from her to the rest of the council, to the sorcerers behind him, and then back. “So…”

“Oh, you’re free to go,” Rowena said, leaning over to whisper to the vampire next to her. Castiel turned to leave, and Dean was just about to do the same, not sure what else to do. 

“Castiel.” 

Dean felt irritation at the base of his spine, not his though Zachariah’s voice was beginning to become an irritant in and of itself. 

“Don’t squander this opportunity. I don’t give third chances.”

Dean felt deflated and then annoyed by the emotional whiplash. Castiel’s eyes cut to him and the feeling disappeared, the Familiar lowering his head in acquiescence. 

The Sorcerers’ hands were on them then, tugging them out of the chamber and the smell of sulfur filled Dean’s nose, drool pooling in his mouth like he might be sick. One of the sorcerers let out a yelp, holding nothing but a suit jacket, whereas a moment ago, he had Castiel’s arm. They all looked down as a black cat hopped out of the pile of clothing before winding itself around Dean’s ankles. He felt immediately less tense. Until he sneezed.

“Of course, you’re a cat.” Dean wiped at his nose with his sleeve as the cat went back to the pile of clothes. 

Grabbing onto the shirt with its teeth, the small cat used all of its body weight to pull the cloth backward, towards Dean. Dean watched in amusement as it was dropped on the toe of his boot, the cat sitting down on the cobblestone beside it and looking up at Dean with expectant blue eyes. 

“This is ridiculous,” Dean muttered to himself, reaching down to scoop up the pile of clothes, snatching the jacket from the sorcerer. 

The cat gave a trill, hopping into action and trotting down the narrow lane between the flames, tail bobbing. Without another thought, Dean followed.


	4. Sovereign and Familiar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas tells it like it is.

“You wanna explain what that was all about?” 

The gateway had just closed behind him, wet grass and lilac replacing the smell of sulfur and burnt hair. Dean sucked in a deep, grateful breath. The cat didn’t stop, just continued its purposeful trot across the grass towards the road. Dean followed, boots crunching as he hit the gravel and let out a sigh of relief when he saw the Impala perched on the shoulder right where he’d left her. 

The cat sat waiting by the back driver’s side door while Dean approached, blue eyes tracking the man’s movement without impatience. Dean came to a stop at the driver’s side door, looking down as the cat craned its neck to look up at him. The cat looked expectantly at the car door and then back at Dean.

Dean rolled his eyes, reaching for the handle and pulling it open, gesturing a hand as the cat hopped into the back seat. He huffed out a disbelieving laugh as he slammed the door behind it, reaching up to run a hand over his face. Dean let out a small growl, shaking his head as he reached for the driver’s door handle, pulling it open with a loud screech and folded himself inside, dropping the clothes on the passenger seat as he closed himself in.

“I’ll take those.”

Dean nearly jumped out of his skin, eyes darting to the rearview mirror where Castiel now sat, naked shoulders visible, but Dean looked resolutely out the windshield before his eyes drifted any further. Dean’s hands scrambled with the clothes, and he lobbed them back over his shoulder. Castiel made a soft noise of surprise and then sighed. Dean was pretty sure he hit him in the face.

“Where to, Salem?”

“Your place is fine.” Castiel was wiggling into his pants, and Dean turned in his seat, resting an arm on the back as he glared over his shoulder at the other man.

“Do I look stupid to you?”

“Not particularly, but I’ve been wrong before.” Castiel didn’t see Dean’s scowl because he had pulled his shirt over his head. “I already know where you live, Dean.”

Dean shifted uncomfortably and faced forward again, eyes flicking to the rearview mirror where Castiel’s eyes held his. He felt a pulse of anxiety, and once again, a soothing calm seemed to shoo it away. Dean frowned. 

“How are you doing that?”

A smile played in Castiel’s eyes but didn’t touch his mouth. “Drive, Dean. Take me home.”

#

Dean offered Castiel a beer as they climbed the narrow staircase to Dean’s rooms above the garage. Castiel declined, requesting tea instead, and Dean fought the roll of his eyes, the door opening with a gentle push of Dean’s mind. It was a long, narrow space, the living area blending into a kitchenette, with cased openings on either side to access a back hallway. Two doors, in shadow but still visible on either side of the kitchenette, one open revealing the foot of a bed, the other closed. The unicorn balloon hovered over the plentiful herb garden occupying what was traditionally the dining space, the window a black square in a whitewashed wall. 

Dean moved into the space, grabbing a beer from the fridge and setting it on the counter before leaning over and digging into a cabinet for an old teapot. Castiel watched as Dean opened a drawer, pushing things aside before he pulled out a tea-strainer. The balloon meandered to hover near Dean’s shoulder. Castiel could have sworn he heard Dean mutter, “I know how to do it.”

Once the kettle was on, Dean finally turned around, leaned against the sink and crossed one ankle over the other. He reached for his beer, and the top flew off into his waiting palm. He set it on the counter as his eyes fell on Castiel, who was pursuing his bookshelf.

“Wanna clue me in on what the hell is happening here?” Dean said after a moment, using his finger to indicate the space between them. 

“I’ve been assigned by the Ethereal Assembly to be your Familiar.”

“Yeah, I got that,” Dean replied, the sarcasm either lost on Castiel, or the other man simply ignored it. “I’m assuming it’s not a coincidence that you showed up at my shop, whammied me with some mojo, and two days later, I’m on the hook for Meow Mix and Fresh Step.”

Dean felt a surge of anger, and his fingers sparked. He snapped them quickly, looking down at his hand with a furrowed brow. “As I told you before, I am _not_ a pet. I can provide for myself. I only ask that you allow me to stay here with you.”

Dean’s eyebrows rose at the audacity of this man-being- _thing_ in front of him, crossing his arms over his chest. “Oh, is that all?”

“I don’t take up much space as you saw.” 

“So, you’re gonna be a cat all the time then?”

“I spend a lot of time in my animal form, yes. Sleeping in it is preferable, especially in close quarters.”

Dean shook his head. “I’m _allergic_ to cats, dude.”

Castiel rolled his eyes. “Then get some _Benadryl_. Or brew something up. As I understand it, you’re quite a herbologist.”

Dean planted his hands on the counter and narrowed his eyes. “How do you know so much about me anyway?” 

Castiel blinked at him before he looked down at his bare feet, and Dean felt as if the sun had moved behind a cloud. “Everyone knows about you, Dean. You and your brother stopped the apocalypse. And survived to tell the tale.”

Dean’s spine straightened, his eyes going flat before he recovered, pushing himself off the counter. “For a while, at least.” Dean’s eyes flashed, and Castiel felt a rush of _ragehurtdespair_ wash over his skin like a chill.

The balloon bumped into Dean’s shoulder, and Castiel’s eyes were drawn to it. Dean grabbed the string and began tugging it back towards the window, wrapping it loosely around a pot of basil. He could feel Castiel moving towards him as he checked the soil in each pot, knowing none of them needed water, but it was something to do.

“Your brother’s birthday is in May.”

Dean blinked at Castiel cover his shoulder before turning back to his plants. “Wyatt Earp’s birthday is in March.” Dean looked over his shoulder again and found Castiel’s brow furrowed, head tilting to the side, and the resemblance between Castiel, the (sort of) human, and Castiel, the cat, was pronounced. “Oh, I thought we were sharing birthday trivia.” Dean turned to face him, crossing his arms with a smirk.

Castiel’s head righted itself as his expression turned sour. “You said the balloon was for your brother’s birthday.”

Dean shifted from foot to foot. “Yeah well…” He didn’t finish, just returned to the kitchen and reached for his beer.

“ _Your_ birthday is in January.”

Dean rolled his eyes before he thumped back against the counter. “Doc Holiday’s birthday is in August. So I lied about what the balloon was for to a stranger.” Dean gave a shrug. “Who cares?”

“What _is_ it for?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Maybe I just like it.” 

“Doesn’t feel like you like it.”

Dean froze then, taking stock of himself, and how had he not noticed the creeping tendrils of _something_ moving through his consciousness? Castiel hadn’t reached the garage; was still somewhere in the unknowable space of the present, seemingly only able to breach Dean’s sentience and not his mind, but it was enough to turn Dean cold.

Dean stood up straight and _shoved_ at his presence and maybe overdid it considering all the cabinets blew open with a series of bangs, one smacking Dean in the back of the head. His growl was accompanied by the silverware drawer jutting out with a clatter and punching against his hip. 

Dean mashed his lips together, sucked in a calming breath, and he was at the porch, heaving a sigh as he trudged up the stairs and entered the house. Stomping into the kitchen he glared at the boiling pot on the stove, spiting and hissing as it frothed over the sides.

“ _Dean_!” 

Dean’s head snapped up as his name echoed around him. The pot was gone, burner off but he smelled smoke and looked up at the ceiling, watched the pinprick of black in the drywall grow as it was eaten away by flames.

One blink and he was back in his actual kitchen, Castiel now directly in front of him, crowding him back into the counter, blue eyes scanning his with intense precision. Dean felt his essence pawing all over his brain while his actual hands clutched at Dean’s biceps. The effect was heady, a surge of want punching through him.

The kettle screamed, making Dean jump, his focus going to the task at hand. Castiel stayed close, unnervingly focused, as Dean grabbed a mug from one cabinet, an air-tight canister from another. Curiosity made Dean’s fingertips itch, a strange hunger to _know_ clouding his thoughts. Dean very carefully poured water into the mug, grabbing a scoopful of the loose herbs in the strainer and dunking it in.

“You’re doing well.” Castiel’s voice was a gentle rumble, and Dean’s head jerked up, finding the man leaning against the counter, arms crossed over his chest, one ankle slotted over the other. Dean gave him a wary stare, leaning back at the waist and Castiel actually smiled as he reached up to tap his own temple. “Keeping me out.”

Dean’s mouth popped open as Castiel took the mug from his hand and brought it to his face, careful of the handle to the strainer. His eyes didn’t leave Dean’s as he inhaled. Dean swallowed hard, thinking of his garden, and started at the first row in the east corner with the plant’s common name, followed by the Latin name and its magical properties. Castiel’s eyes twinkled, puckering his lips against the edge of the mug, only giving the slightest hesitation before taking a small sip.

Dean picked up his bottle and took a long drink, eyes never leaving the dark-haired man standing across from him. Castiel’s amusement made him anxious, mixing with his distrust to strike a concordant note in his stomach. Castiel lifted the strainer from the mug and let it drip a bit before setting it gently in the sink. Dean could feel his own heart thudding hard in his chest, holding Castiel’s gaze but distracted by the harmonizing heartbeat that could only have been Castiel’s. Castiel’s eyes narrowed just slightly as he drained the mug in a single go, still staring into Dean’s suspicious green eyes. 

Dean counted three breaths and then, “Who are you?” 

“Castiel.”

“Where are you from?”

“Hell.”

Dean blinked. “You’re… a demon?”

Castiel’s cheek twitched. “I’m a Familiar. _Your_ Familiar now.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed. “What were you born as?”

“There isn’t a word for it.”

Dean felt a line of electricity crackle up the back of his neck. “Answer me plainly.”

“My father was an incubus, and my mother was an angel.” Castiel huffed, reaching to wipe the spit that had slipped over his lip in his haste to answer. 

“You’re a… a…” Dean struggled, trying not to let his eyes wander down Castiel’s body. He couldn’t see much because of the ill-fitting suit and trench coat, but Dean had a pretty good imagination.

“I am an abomination.” Castiel’s smile was more mocking than bitter, but Dean could taste it under his tongue nonetheless.

Dean chose to ignore the confession. “What does a holy sex demon want with me?”

Dean regretted his word choice immediately, watching Castiel’s eyes darken, a smirk gracing the man’s full lips. “Well, since I am under the influence of some sort of truth elixir… peppermint, ginger and…” Castiel licked his lips, and Dean _did not_ shiver. “Coriander?”

“Lemongrass.”

“Hmmm interesting. Yes, so the- “Castiel paused, reaching up to snag finger quotes in the air, “‘holy sex demon’ wants what all sex demons want, holy or otherwise.”

Dean swallowed hard. “Uh…”

“To overthrow the Ethereal Assembly and lay waste to Heaven and Hell.”

Dean’s eyebrows raced to his hairline, and the laugh that escaped him surprised him so much that he had to lean back against the counter to steady himself. Castiel wasn’t laughing, though his eyes seemed to dance with amusement. Dean could feel it in his own gut as if the two feelings sat side by side within him. 

“I thought you were babysitting me _for_ the Ethereal Assembly. Or the Grand Coven. Or whoever.” Dean rolled his eyes.

One side of Castiel’s mouth quirked up. “They want me to assess your abilities and report back, yes. Whether I do it or not remains to be seen.” 

Dean snorted, taking a deep drink of his beer before thunking the bottle down on the counter and crossing his arms tight over his chest to lance Castiel with an intense stare. “What about what _I_ want? _I_ want to be left _alone.”_

Castiel’s smile was sad. “You know that will never happen, Dean.”

 _“Why?”_ Dean huffed and ran a hand through his hair. “They never gave a shit about me before! I’m basically just a green thumb on steroids.” Dean crossed his arms over his chest, fists in his armpits. “Sam was the real Harry Potter. Ran off to the Assembly Academy and danced naked under the full moon with all the other weirdos at 18. Dad was _pissed_.”

“Yes and despite John Winchester’s best efforts, _you_ are still powerful even without formal training.”

Dean brought the bottle to his lips as if he could hide behind it. Castiel smiled at the ghost of butterflies tickling in his belly. “Yeah? And how do you know that?”

“I’ve been watching you for quite some time.”

Dean’s lips were still puckered, seeking the opening of his bottle as his eyes snapped to Castiel. “You _what,_ now?”

Castiel’s eyes had turned severe, and Dean wasn’t prepared for him to step forward. “You think it’s a coincidence that I showed up in your shop right before you were forced to take a familiar?”

Dean was stunned, the scent of Castiel like some kind of balm to his soul, and he found himself wanting to reach for the man, to pull him close, see what he tasted like. He felt pinned, unable to move as Castiel stepped right into his personal space, blue eyes glowing and the sweetness of his breath stirred against Dean’s lips. 

“We are bonded, you and I.” Castiel ran a finger down the line of buttons on Dean’s flannel. “Deeper than blood and bone, ancient and unfathomable. Not quite soulmates but…”

“No such thing.” Dean swallowed hard when Castiel’s gaze intensified as he held up a hand, palm facing Dean. Without thinking Dean lifted his own, and Castiel lined up their fingers and palms. Something pulsed deep in Dean, and it was like being ripped under by a swift current. Visions flashed in front of him. White rooms and clean sheets. A woman at a work table with seeds in her hair and soot on one cheekbone. A group of children on a playground and a sense of loneliness so palpable he nearly choked. It was Castiel’s memories, or some of them anyway. Dean immediately jerked back.

“What did you see?” Dean’s voice was sharp as a slap, but Castiel merely smiled.

“Your brother’s first steps, I think.”

Dean’s lips quirked at the memory. “You… that’s it?” Castiel nodded. “I saw… at least three different things… I think…” He frowned. It was all beginning to blur.

“You don’t trust me yet.”

Dean arched an eyebrow. “And you trust me?”

“Yes.” Dean eyed the mug next to Castiel’s hip, and Castiel followed his gaze. “I’ll drink another cup if you like, but I have no reason to lie to you.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed. “Buddy, you’re my Coven appointed babysitter.

Castiel sighed, sweet breath stirring the air between them, and Dean swallowed hard. “I am your Familiar,” Dean looked half a second away from bolting, so Castiel stepped back into his space, cupping his jaw. Dean’s attention turned with laser focus to Castiel’s lips. “You are my Sovereign. You cast, I charge. You conjure, I banish the afterbirth. You hex, I’m your shield.”

“I give an order?” Dean lifted an eyebrow, and Castiel felt his mouth form the words without his permission, fingertips twitching against Dean’s cheekbones.

“I obey.” 

Castiel watched something flicker across Dean’s face, knew the other man felt the lump in his own chest as Castiel swallowed his pride, and it splashed into the empty pit of his stomach. Castiel refocused, and Dean’s eyes went hazy as his thumb smudged Dean’s bottom lip. “No one can know, Dean. You understand why.”

“Sure, Cas.” Dean’s tongue darted out, following the touch but unable to taste it on his skin.

“Dean,” Castiel’s hand fell on his shoulder, and despite the layer of fabric between them, Dean felt the touch like it was a live wire. Warmth flooded him, and he was overwhelmed by images of skin and hands. Then it was gone, replaced by a soft. “Sorry. “

And suddenly Dean was alone, dizzy and breathless. Well, he thought he was alone until he sneezed and realized there was a pile of clothes at his feet. He watched dazed, as the small black cat trotted around the kitchen island and hopped up into Dean’s recliner. He turned in a circle before laying down and promptly fell asleep.

Dean pressed fingers hard between his eyes, wanting to sink inside himself but didn’t dare with that _thing_ walking around in his head. The unicorn balloon was back, big cartoon eyes flat and staring right at him. Dean rolled his eyes, punched the balloon away from him right on its horn before turning to stomp into his room. Maybe if he went to sleep, he’d wake up, and all of it would be a dream.


	5. Scrambled Eggs and Reversed Entropy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's breakfasts used to be a lot less stressful.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t a dream. When Dean exited his room the next morning, the cat was still in his chair but sprawled out this time, the tip of a pink tongue visible between its lips. Dean had the mean inclination to crinkle the cellophane of his coffee bag loudly, knowing how that sound tended to spook the junkyard cats that sometimes confused his salvage yard with someplace they’d be tolerated. 

Dean went about making his breakfast, throwing bacon in a pan and sliding toast into the toaster as he sipped at his mug; overly sweet, but that was how he liked it. He’d had “Kashmir” stuck in his head for days and hummed it with gusto as he cracked eggs, dropping the yolks among the bacon grease turning the whites a dirty brown as they cooked.

“Will you scramble mine?”

Dean let out a sharp yelp and, without meaning to, the mug exploded in his hand, hot coffee and ceramic shards raining down on his bare feet. What followed happened so fast he didn’t even have time to react. One second he was bracing himself for first-degree burns; the next, the mug was back in his hand, whole, its contents steaming.

Dean turned wide eyes to Castiel, who was perched on a barstool hand outstretched towards him. Two fingers pointed at Dean’s hand, and Castiel’s eyes glowed electric blue. Cas sucked in a deep breath through his nose, the light leaving his eyes as he lowered his hand. Dean looked down at the mug then back to Castiel, mouth hanging open.

“How-“Dean cut himself off abruptly as he took in Castiel’s bare shoulders and chest, getting to the dark smattering of hair descending from his navel before he swung his gaze to the ceiling.” You’re naked again.”

“Apologies.”

Dean glanced down as he heard the stool move, getting a glimpse of the tan expanse of the man’s back, his dimpled glutes and thick thighs before Dean snapped his gaze up again. “I put your clothes right next to you.”

“I don’t typically wear clothes when at home.”

“This isn’t your home!” Dean’s voice cracked, and the toast shot out of the toaster with more force than average.

Castiel glanced over his shoulder at Dean, who was snatching the two pieces of bread from where they landed across the counter. Castiel chuckled as he buttoned his slacks. “My home is where you are.” 

Dean looked like a deer caught in the headlights when Castiel turned to face him again, reaching for his shirt and shrugging it on. “What? No. That’s not-“Dean looked around helplessly. “Don’t _say_ shit like that to me, man.”

Castiel gave an unaffected shrug. “Finish your breakfast, and we’ll begin.”

That’s when he realized his eggs were burning. Cursing under his breath Dean grabbed a spatula and began to try and salvage his eggs. “Sonnovah-“

“I assume you’ve read _Llewellyn’s Complete Book of Ceremonial Magic_ as well as _Veneficium_?”

“Vene-whos-it?” Dean glared over his shoulder, finding Castiel with his hands folded on the countertop, face set in mild determination. 

Castiel sighed. “I know you have. They’re on the shelf.” 

“Maybe they’re Sam’s.”

“ _Are_ they Sam’s?”

Dean dumped his breakfast onto a waiting plate. “Look, thanks for the offer, but I’m a little old for Hogwarts. Tell the Assembly whatever you want but leave me out of it.”

Castiel heaved a long-suffering sigh. “Dean, you just blew up your own coffee mug. I think the ship of subterfuge has sailed.”

“Speaking of which, how did you pull that little trick just now?” Dean gestured between them, bringing his mug to his lips.

Castiel’s lips pulled in a mocking smile. “It’s a Familiar thing.” He brought a mug to his lips. Dean was about to roll his eyes when he realized he hadn’t _given_ Castiel a cup, nor had the man moved from his seat since he got dressed.

“Where did that come from?”

Castiel looked down into his mug and ducked his head in an attempt to hide a smirk. “The aether.”

“The…” Dean huffed a sigh before waving his hands and snatched up his plate, shoveling eggs in his mouth. 

They were silent for a moment, Castiel sipping from his mug, which looked nearly identical to Dean’s, even though he knew only had _one_ Waffle House mug from a trip he and Sam took to Kansas City while scouting colleges. Dean clenched his teeth, jaw flexing at the memory of his brother, tall and long-haired and the most powerful Caster he’d ever known, who had never been able to conjure from the aether. Dean shoveled eggs into his mouth before forcing in a few slices of bacon. He chewed laboriously, swallowed a bit and sighed before chewing some more.

“How’d you do it?”

Castiel’s eyes lifted, bright blue over the lip of his mug as he took a mouthful. Dean could tell he was trying to hide feeling smug, but Dean felt it twitching at the corners of his own lips. Castiel made a show of setting his mug down, crossing one leg over the other and planting his elbows on the bar top, clasping his hands together. Dean lowered his eyes to his plate and concentrated on cramming the remainder of his bacon into his mouth, trying not to blush at the intense stare Castiel had laid on him.

“The same way I reversed the entropy of your fear, there.” Castiel nodded at Dean’s mug.

Dean looked up chewing, then glanced down at his mug, struggling to swallow. “I wasn’t scared! You startled me.”

Castiel waved a disinterested hand and rolled his eyes, picking up the mug again to swallow another mouthful. Dean scooped the last of his eggs into his mouth, chewing as he dropped the plate in the sink before he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the counter again, leveling his eyes on Castiel.

“Seriously. That’s major mojo. Familiars don’t pack that kind of heat.”

Castiel’s head fell back on his neck and heaved a beleaguered sigh. “What do Familiars do?”

“So far?” Dean asked with a raised eyebrow. “Talk in riddles and freeload offa my Lazy-Boy.” Castiel’s face was dangerously unamused, and Dean swallowed thickly. “They’re some kind of 1up for witches.”

Castiel’s head lilted to the side. “Close enough. They are a conduit of a Caster’s power. What does that mean exactly?”

“I have no idea, but I assume you’re going to tell me.” Dean bent over, resting his elbows on the counter and propped his chin on his hand, giving Castiel a smarmy smile. The Familiar returned it.

“They absorb, then enhance, amplify or direct the spell or intention.” Castiel paused, and Dean nodded. “Familiars are _also_ considered the yang to their Casters’ ying. As such, it’s relatively easy for me to absorb a burst of your power and reverse it.”

“So… I exploded my mug-“

“And I was able to- “Castiel’s fingers snagged air quotes, “‘-un-explode’ it.” He lifted his mug to his lips again. “And if I just happened to make an extra, well…” Castiel shrugged, “Accidents happen.” Dean rolled his eyes while Castiel drained his cup. “We have much to discuss, but we should begin with some centering exercises.”

Dean let out a humorless laugh. “Hard pass.”

“If you can’t control your power, how do you expect to wield it?”

Dean let the smug smile curl at his lips, enjoying the frustration that tingled in his jaw, especially now that it wasn’t his own. “I don’t. Besides,” Dean nodded, eyes darting around them as he brought his mug to his lips, “I’m running a business here.” He winced as the cool coffee hit his tongue.

Castiel huffed, placed the tips of his fore and middle finger against the side of Dean’s mug, close enough to the tip of his thumb that goosebumps rose on the back of Dean’s neck. Castiel’s stormy gaze held his hostage as steam began to rise from Dean’s mug.

“This is more important than that.”

Dean huffed, frustrated in more ways than he was willing to admit. “Look, I can’t play Harry Potter with you all day. I gotta work.”

Castiel’s gaze seemed to intensify, something Dean didn’t even think was possible, and the air around them became thick, heady with the scent of damp earth and the pungent air right before the rain.

“When we’re through, you’ll be able to mend metal and repair machinery with a thought. Come.” 

Castiel’s hand opened between them, palm up. Dean looked down at it, noting the crosses under his index and ring fingers, the way the heart line went from nearly invisible to deeply grooved and his fate line began as a frayed tangle of fine lines before thinning to something singular and deep. Dean swallowed hard, trying not to think about his own lines.

“Part of the Familiar thing is you have to do what I tell you. You said that. I give you an order; you obey.” Dean’s eyes were cast down, but he felt Castiel’s suspicion skitter down his spine. Dean rubbed his tongue against the roof of his mouth, sour now as Castiel’s mood.

“I guess if you want to get extremely technical, I am considered a-” Castiel made finger quotes before dropping his hands, “-‘lesser being’ and am subject to arcane rules and rituals that most modern sects not only frown upon but actively speak out against.”

Dean smirked, crossing his arms over his chest. “So that’s a yes?”

Castiel scowled, dropping his hand to his side, “Yes.” 

“So, if I tell you not to leave this apartment…”

“I will, in fact, not be able to set foot outside this apartment,” Castiel gave him a wan smile before rolling his eyes. 

“Like you’ll bounce off the doorframe like a cartoon or-“

“I get both feet past the threshold, and I’ll die.” Castiel’s eyes were as sharp as Dean’s gasp as he stepped in closer, one foot going between both of Dean’s, nearly nose to nose now. “I don’t know what part of this seems like a game to you, but it’s not. I could have minded my own business, let them string you up in Hell before they took your power and tossed you to the angels-”

“And why didn’t you?” Dean’s voice was a lot harder than he meant it to be and the silence that followed was a thing with teeth.

Castiel’s voice was measured when he began to speak. “Because there’s a bigger picture here. I see it. Your brother saw it.”

“What do you know about my brother?” 

“Admittedly, not much.” Castiel blinked at him, eyes hard. “But I managed to make it this far without taking a Sovereign, so trust me when I say, whatever they’re planning? The angels? It’s big. And you need to be ready for it.”

Dean’s eyebrows rose before he tipped his chin up, shifting from foot to foot and if he maybe projected the fact that he misjudged the dude, well, Castiel could pick up on that if he was looking for it. Castiel seemed pleased though nothing on his face indicated so. Dean just felt the warmth of it in his chest. He reached up and rubbed at his ear, pressing back harder into the counter as he looked down and to the side.

“Alright. Lemme get in some hours downstairs, and we can… do… whatever.” Dean flicked a hand, a thrill of nervousness washing in tingles over his skin. He wanted to believe that wasn’t him, but it definitely was.

The smile that pulled across Castiel’s face was brilliant. “I look forward to it.”


	6. The Downside of a Holy Sex-Demon Roommate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas meets Becky and Dean's allergies get the best of him.

It was a little past nine when Dean realized his steady workflow had yet to be interrupted by the arrival of his daytime clerk. He checked his watch again, just to make sure he hadn’t read it wrong, but it was indeed nearly half an hour after her usual arrival time. Becky was a bit of a ditz with a serious lack of boundaries, but she was a hard worker and had never once been late or taken a day off without calling ahead of time. 

Dean frowned, stepping towards the bay door, punching the button that made it rise. As the lot was slowly revealed, he saw her Jetta parked at the end like always. He supposed it was possible that Becky had gotten caught up in her opening duties and forgone the usual twenty minutes of inane chatter he endured upon her arrival. Still, in the three years she’d been working there, it hadn’t happened yet. 

Dean turned back toward the shop, tentatively stretching outward, trying to sense her aura but was overtaken almost immediately by an insatiable lust. A hand shot out to catch himself on the workbench as he stumbled, blood surging to his groin so fast he ended up dizzy and forced himself to snap back, fortify his mind. Something wasn’t right. His steps were quick and silent, moving towards the door to the lobby and found it empty, but Becky’s purse was on the counter. 

A low moan from the management office that Dean took as a sound of distress had Dean’s hands sparking, and the door blew off its hinges. Dean barged in, power thrumming dangerous and reckless through his veins, but what he found there seemed to pull the plug, fear and anger going dark as confusion and disbelief took over. 

Becky was hoisted up on the desk; legs wrapped tight around some guy’s waist as she moaned into his neck, hands clawing at his muscled back. The guy was railing her pretty good, pants around his ankles, naked ass only covered by the panties that dangled from one of Becky’s feet. 

“What… the hell?”

Becky’s eyes flew open, and she let out a shrill scream scrambling to push at the man’s chest as well as push herself back up the desk, trying to get her legs closed. Still, the man’s head dipped, sucking at her neck and her eyes rolled back into her head, turning instantly pliable, even pulling herself in close again. 

Dean recognized him then, Castiel’s sinuous body and the way it moved. With that realization, he was flooded with his Familiar’s awareness, half-starved, a mindless driving need to fuck, all instinct with no sentience. Dean made to grab his shoulder, intent on ripping him off Becky, but Castiel’s head turned just enough for Dean to get a glimpse of blacked-out eyes. The snarl Cas emitted caused a spray of spittle to land on the back of Dean’s hand. 

Small as it was, Dean felt the effect of the venom immediately, skin growing hot and a deep ache pulled between his legs, dick chubbing up under his jumpsuit. He backpedaled quick, wiping it on his thigh, and thankfully the effect began to wane, but he still had the problem of his front desk girl having a screaming orgasm on the account ledger while his new holy sex demon roommate roofied her with bodily fluids. 

Dean reached for the baseball bat by the door and pressed his lips together, muttering a quiet, “sorry, man” before he swung, catching the Familiar across the shoulder blades. Castiel buckled hands moving to the desk to try and keep himself up but only managed to slow his knees’ collision with the concrete floor. Becky’s chest heaved, little whimpers still pulling from her throat as she looked down at Castiel, now kneeling between her open legs. 

Dean watched her eyes grow large, lips pulling in a carnal smile as her hands reached for his head, hips trying to scoot closer to the edge of the desk. Dean surged forward with a strangled “nope” and grabbed Castiel by the scruff of his neck, dragging him back so that his legs unfolded to stretch out in front of him. Dean’s back hit the doorframe, and Castiel’s shoulder blades slumped back against Dean’s knees, both men panting now. Dean’s eyes were drawn to Castiel, still thick and glistening between his legs.

“Thank you, Dean.” Castiel’s voice was weak, and Dean quickly looked to his Familiar’s face, which was contorted in guilt, eyes exhausted. “I couldn’t stop it. She came in and-”

“ _Oh my god, Dean I… I…”_

Dean looked up to find Becky clutching the lapels of her blouse closed, knees tight together as she pulled them to her chest. Her panties, cotton with what looked like little turtles all over them, still hung from one foot, and Dean immediately looked back up to her face, which was a mistake. Fat, black tears were rolling down her cheeks, her nose bright red as she began to sob. 

_“I don’t even know what happened! I came in, and this guy was behind the counter shirtless… and… and… I don’t even remember. I… oh god, Dean, please don’t fire me!”_ Her large blue eyes locked on Dean, and he held up his hands as she scrambled off the desk tripping over her discarded shoes as she latched on to his jumpsuit. “ _I have_ never _done_ anything _like… like...”_

Her eyes began to glaze over as she looked down at Castiel, still slumped at Dean’s feet, and Dean grabbed her by the shoulders, literally lifting her off her feet and planted her behind the counter.

“Becky, I want you to stand here,” Dean’s eyes held hers as his hand reached behind her, and with a twist of his wrist, the lock on the door turned and the “come back soon” side of the sign faced outward. “Just stand here and _do not move_ for any reason until I come back. Okay?”

Becky’s arms had curled against her chest, hands tangled together as she nodded, lowering her head in shame. Dean sighed, resting a hand on her shoulder before he pressed a reassuring kiss to her forehead and turned toward the office again.

Castiel was on his feet, head down as he zipped and buttoned his slacks, and it stayed down, shoulders curled in. Dean didn’t even have to reach for it. The shame and regret radiated out at him in waves thick enough to smother him. Dean heaved a sigh and grabbed for Castiel’s elbow, but the other man jerked back.

“You can’t touch me, my skin. Not right now.” Castiel warned, and Dean remembered the night before, the flash of skin and sex.

Dean gave a short nod before he jerked his head, an order for Castiel to follow him. Dean kept his body between Castiel’s and Becky’s as they passed, but both had their heads down. They were able to get through the garage and outside without incident, then up the back stairs to Dean’s apartment. 

As soon as they were inside, Dean rounded on Castiel, the surge of power scalding through his veins. An entire line of books flung themselves from the shelf, and Dean mashed his lips together, sucked in a calming breath. 

When his eyes sunk closed, he was running through the stacks, swiping fireflies out of his face as he broke for the porch. Skidding into the kitchen, he saw a giant stockpot bubbling away, one of the great tall ones used to boil lobsters, and he grit his teeth, grabbing both handles to lift it from the flames. He managed to scoot it to another burner with some effort, fingers trembling as he flicked the burner off.

“ _Dean_!” 

Dean’s head snapped up, hands going to cover his ears, as his name echoed around him. One blink and he was back in front of Castiel, now crowded into his personal space, blue eyes searching endlessly. Dean scrambled back.

“Where did you go?” Castiel’s brow was furrowed in concern and confusion. “You were gone just then I couldn’t-”

Dean reared back and punched Castiel solidly in the mouth, hissing and shaking out his fist as the other man stumbled but remained upright. Castiel’s hand lifted to press tentatively to his cheek as he looked at Dean, a trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth. 

“What happened to the Familiar follows the Caster’s orders? Huh?” Dean’s voice was gruff, and Castiel blinked at him. “I told you not to set foot outside this apartment!”

Castiel prodded at his lip. “Technically, you asked what would happen if you said I couldn’t leave the apartment.”

“Really?!” Dean squinted at him, and Castiel shrugged, still prodding at his lip. Dean felt the roil of his stomach at Cas’ obvious guilt.

“It was an accident. I would have never gone down there in this form if I’d known she’d be early-“

Castiel’s tongue, pink and wet, peeked out to capture a dribble of blood, and Dean felt his breathing shallow, mouth going dry. He shook his head.

“Stop _doing_ that!” 

“I’m not _doing_ anything!” Castiel snapped back, though his body jerked backward as if by an unseen hand, putting more space between them.

Dean snorted in derision. “Well, you’re doing something because-“Dean didn’t finish, just gestured to the visible lump in the front of his jumpsuit. “And I’m straight as a fucking arrow, my friend.” 

Castiel smirked at him. “Clearly not.” 

Dean scowled. “Fuck you. It’s because you’re a sex demon. I can’t control it. Just like poor Becky down there. Jesus.” Dean rubbed a hand over his face. “Kid needed to get laid but not like _that_.” Dean let his head fall back and cursed again before turning to go to the kitchen. 

The unicorn balloon, which had been hovering near the window, gusted toward the kitchen as the heat kicked on, seeming to trail Dean into the space. Castiel thought he heard Dean mumble something that sounded like “She’s fine; I’ll tell you later” as he opened the cabinet above the fridge. Dean pulled down a glass jar of what appeared to be loose leaf tea and scooped some into one of those mini-envelopes that keys come in. His mouth was set in a grim line as he advanced back into the living room.

“I’m gonna go downstairs and take that girl home. You’re gonna stay in this room and try not to fuck anybody before I get back.” Dean shook his head. “No, you _won’t_ fuck anybody before I get back.” Castiel thought he heard him mutter something about “stupid fucking rules.”

Castiel gave him an unamused stare. “Would you mind extending that to the edges of the property? If there’s a fire, I’d rather not burn alive.”

Dean’s breath left him, and Castiel felt the pulse of hurt as if he’d been sucker-punched himself. Smoke filled Cas’ senses, ears closing to a dull roar, but he could still hear John Winchester’s gruff command, nothing but an echo now. _Take your brother outside as fast as you can, and don’t look back! Now, Dean, go!_

“Dean, I didn’t-“

“Your boundary is extended to the property line.” Dean pocketed the envelope and tried to move to the door, but Castiel stepped in front of him.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I…” Castiel winced, and Dean’s brows and lips tipped up in a sarcastic smirk.

“Forgot? Lucky you.” Dean took a stuttered step forward but halted when Castiel didn’t move, stopping short of bumping into him. Dean didn’t want to see what body to body contact did if it could make awkward Becky Rosen feral enough to fuck on Dean’s desk.

Castiel ignored the jibe, eyes trained on Dean’s pocket. “What’s that?”

“Something to help her forget.”

Castiel raised his eyebrows. “That’s dangerous, Dean. She could lose more than-”

“Just shut up right now, okay?” Dean snapped, and Castiel’s mouth closed sharply with a clack of teeth. The Familiar scowled, and Dean winced. “Sorry. Look, I may be a shitty caster, but the plant stuff I got.” Dean reached for the door. “Don’t leave the property and don’t _talk_ to anyone. And I don’t wanna see your face when I get back.” 

Castiel’s eyes were a blaze of indignation, but he gave a small dip of his head in agreement. Dean returned it, eyes holding on Castiel’s, and it was strange to feel his own anger and frustration alongside someone else’s. They were the same, but they hit different; Dean’s a roiling, uncontrollable thing that bubbled up so fast but was gone as soon as the heat was off. Castiel’s was a flash, like lightning, disappearing almost as soon as it showed itself, and one was left to wait for what followed, whether it was instant or still miles away, a low rumble or a crack so loud it felt like it could split the earth in two.

Dean shouldered past him finally, holding his breath when their elbows brushed, fabric against skin, but nothing happened. A surge of anxiety lanced through him as he was about to step over the threshold, and he paused there, hands reaching to his sides to clutch the doorframe. He turned his head, chin tucked to his shoulder.

“If your life is in danger, all commands are null and void.” 

Dean slammed the door behind him.

#

That afternoon, Dean was elbow deep in the engine of an old Ford pickup when he felt a tickle at the base of his throat. He cleared it, giving a soft cough before focusing again, but soon his nose began to burn, and he fought the urge to rub at it with his grease-stained hands. When his eyes began to sting, he stretched to eyeball the cap on the coolant, but it was still twisted on. Movement out of the corner of his eye made him look up. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

Dean glared at the black cat sitting perched on the fender, peering down into the engine block. It looked up at him then, large blue eyes blinking slow. Dean found the level of intelligence there unnerving. 

_Thank you. You said you didn’t want to see my face._

Dean’s eyes widened, giving his head a sharp shake, grumbling something about never getting used to that. He went back to work, trying to ignore the fact that he was being watched and how his airways were slowly clogging up or closing, but something kept niggling at him. The cat’s tail was twitching where it curled around its feet, an irritating motion that kept activating his primal instinct to look for danger.

“Would you knock that off?” Dean grunted, trying to remove a stubborn nut. “It’s distracting.”

_You’re agitated._

Dean cut his eyes to the animal. “Yeah, I can’t breathe, and I’ve got a stranger walking around in my head.”

The cat gave a slow blink. _No, the twitch is because I’m feeling your agitation. You should take a calming breath and clear your mind._ The cat sucked in a deep breath and huffed it out as if demonstrating.

Dean extricated himself from under the hood and held up his hands, sucking in a deep breath. “Okay is there a way to turn this connection off?”

The cat’s head tilted, blue eyes squinting as one ear twitched. It was extremely unnerving. _To break the connection, we’d have to break the bond._

Dean’s blinked. “We can do that?”

The cat hesitated. _It’s ill-advised._

“Tell me how.”

Dean felt the tension right away as if something were being wrenched from his throat, like the time he’d been intubated after the car crash that killed his father. The words seemed to fling themselves at the window of his mind, going _SPLAT!_ and making him wince.

_Rue, Wormwood and White Sage brewed at the New Moon._

Dean was assaulted by images of a woman bent over next to a bed, vomiting blood as another woman took staticky, painful breaths, arm hanging off the side of the mattress, fingers reaching as if trying to comfort. Dean squeezed his eyes shut and pushed, his mind clear. He heard the scramble of claws, the small _hrmph_ the cat made when his paws hit the concrete. Dean leaned over, rubbing fingers over the place where the feline had sat, but the paint was undamaged. Cas was shaking his head, ears flapping as the wiggle moved through his entire body. He sat again, looking up at Dean and gave an irritated huff.

_It would likely kill one or both of us._

Dean reached up to knuckle at his eyes, holding out a hand and a wrench zipped from the top of the toolbox to his palm. “Man, this is so fucked up.”

Dean felt the corners of his lips try and lift, smug, and he forced them into a frown, glaring as the cat hopped back up onto the fender.

_Indeed. Witches and Warlocks have been bonding to unknowing or unwilling Familiars for centuries. I don’t think they realized that the reverse could also happen. You should file a complaint when this is all over._

Dean didn’t want to ask, digging back into the engine but found he couldn’t stop himself. “And when will that be?”

“Hey, Dean! Are you talking to that cat?”

Dean jumped, sparks shooting from his fingers, but that was the only reaction, no flying tools or honking horns. It was as if someone had swaddled him, the feeling of being wrapped tight to the point of suffocation making him panic. Something soft brushed his forearm, and his stomach unknotted, cool breath filling his lungs. He looked down to see the cat had walked the length of the grill, small body, slinking against Dean’s arm. Dean sneezed hard and a chuckle from the doorway made Dean look up with a sniffle. 

Jack Kline stood in the doorway between the front office and the garage, the air around him a pale buttery yellow with waves of turquoise throughout. He grinned “When did you get a cat?”

“I don’t have a cat.” He looked down as cat’s tail wrapped around his forearm. Dean shook it off, scratching at his arm before he folded himself back under the hood. “Becky was out this morning, so there’s some invoices piled up, and the machine probably has messages.” 

“Awesome.” Jack sighed, aura dulling considerably as he turned to push back through the door into the lobby. 

Dean watched him leave and jumped when the dull thump of Cas’ tail hit his forearm. _The Ten Pillars of Sorcery. What are they?_

Dean snorted, hacking a bit on the mucus at the back of his throat. “Yeah, no. I gotta finish rewiring this thing.”

The cat huffed. _Fine. I’ll just wait here then._

Dean glared at him before turning back to the engine and purposefully started the record player in the living room of his mind, let it waft into the forefront so “Whole Lotta Love” blared, and the cat’s ears flattened. Dean smirked, but it was a moment too soon, the music dulling as thoughts in all caps sailed across his mind, impossible to ignore.

_NUMBER ONE: RIGHTLY PREPARED MATERIALS. ALL MATERIALS MUST BE SPRINKLED WITH-_

“ _You need cooling, Baby I’m not fooling,_ ” Dean sang in his gravelly baritone despite the irritating burn in his lungs, and the cat seemed to freeze. “I’m _gonna send ya, Back to schooling_ … what’sa matter Cas you don’t like Zepp?”

Dean glanced over to see the cat staring up at him in wonder. _We should look into channeling music magic._

Dean snorted, feeling the back of his neck heat up as he coughed then buried himself in the engine. He continued the song, going on to finish the rest of Side 1 after the cat began to purr.

#

The cat stayed underfoot the rest of the day, and by the end, Dean’s chest was tight, and his right eye was irritated and stinging, occasionally sending a steady stream of tears down his cheek. He finally gave up and closed early, stopping in the pharmacy after putting an order in at the diner next door. 

The cat was in the apartment when Dean returned with various allergy medicines in a plastic bag and a brown paper sack containing his dinner. It sat on the back of the couch, staring out the window, the unicorn balloon floating nearby. The cat’s tail swished back and forth, hitting the string so that the balloon rocked back and forth as it hovered.

The cat’s head turned at the sound of Dean closing the door, big blue eyes curious, and it was almost comical how the unicorn balloon also turned, its cartoon eyes seeming to stare at Dean as well. Dean huffed a laugh.

“Honey I’m home,” he muttered, walking the short distance to the kitchen and dropping his bags on the counter before going to the fridge for a beer.

When he turned around again, the cat was on the counter, nosing at his bag of food. Dean nearly spit out the drink he’d just taken, scrambling forward to shoo it away.

“‘ey! Get away from that. It’s mine.” 

The cat’s ears flattened at the admonishment but shuffled away to sit near the sink, tail flicking up and down. Dean shook his head and climbed up onto the barstool to eat his dinner straight from the bag. The heat kicked on, and the unicorn balloon was blown in his direction, the string trailing over his shoulder before he turned his head and puffed out his cheeks, blowing hard so it veered to hover over the stool next to his.

Dean was about to take another bite of his burger when he noticed the cat eyeing the balloon with narrowed eyes. He watched as it stood, curled its back up in a stretch before padding over to the edge of the counter. It inspected the string, eyes climbing it all the way to the obnoxiously pink and white mylar that was canted down as if looking back. 

“ _Ach!_ ” Dean interjected as the cat reared back onto its hind legs, paws reaching for the balloon, and the glint of white claws against its solid black fur made Dean’s heart lurch. “Knock it-“He snatched the cat up under the ribs and must have gotten a lungful of dander because he sneezed hard, Cas giving a small squeak as Dean’s hands accidentally squeezed his rib cage. “Goddammit.” He sneezed again. And again. And again, until he was having trouble catching his breath.

Suddenly he wasn’t holding a cat anymore but had his hands pressed against smooth skin, and he felt Cas’ arms curl under his to keep him upright. His heart was thundering in his chest, eyes streaming, and when he felt a warm palm on his forehead, his throat closed.

“Do you have an inhaler?” The low rumble of Castiel’s voice sent shivers down Dean’s spine as he struggled to breathe, green eyes wide as he stared into blue. His hand wrapped tightly around Cas’ wrist, skin searing. “Dean your throat has closed. You need to tell me where your inhaler is.”

Dean was being lowered to the ground, vision swimming black as he reached a hand, fingers stretching, mind stretching, and a series of clangs and thumps issued from the back of the apartment. Castiel’s head lifted at the sound, and Dean admired the length of his neck, the burning in his lungs becoming secondary to the burning in his gut. He was uncomfortably hard in his jeans, the exposed skin of his forearm and bicep pressing to Cas’ torso as he was cradled into Cas’ arms. 

Dean blinked as something bounced off Cas’ chest and fell against Dean’s neck. Cas looked down, and his fingers ghosted against Dean’s skin, attempting to grab it. Dean gave a whimper, trying to stretch his neck to get more of Cas’ touch. Something hard and plastic was shoved between his lips, and Dean attempted to turn away, wanting to bury his face in Cas’ chest as his vision began to falter, but he didn’t have the strength. Something puffed into his mouth, foul-tasting, and he inhaled on instinct, drawing the mist back into his throat and down to his lungs. 

He was suddenly hacking and coughing, limbs flailing, but a firm hand cradled his neck, thumb and forefinger pressed hard into his skull as the plastic mouthpiece was forced past his lips again. Cas fired the trigger, sending more of the medicine into Dean’s lungs. Dean inhaled hard, chest suddenly on fire, throat aching, and he coughed for what felt like an eternity, gut cramping from the force of it until it finally subsided, leaving him sweating and exhausted, forehead leaning against Castiel’s chest.

Castiel’s hand rested against his sternum, radiating warmth through his body, and a sense of calm began to weave itself into his consciousness. Dean almost felt drugged, his forehead smearing sweat against Castiel’s pectoral, stubble rasping against a nipple, and Dean felt Cas’ pulse of arousal tug in his own groin. He moaned softly, the thin cotton fuzz of his oxygen-depleted brain leaving him listless and needy, a hand lifting to curl over Cas’ shoulder.

“We need to get you to bed.”

The low rumble of Cas’ voice sent a shiver through Dean, his fingers digging into Castiel’s shoulder as his body was lifted clean off the floor as if he weighed nothing. His room was dark, but he could see all of Cas as he was laid down on soft sheets. Dean felt the blankets lift as Cas placed a hand on his hip, the denim of his jeans seeming to melt from his body before he was covered again. Dean’s hand extracted itself from beneath as Cas leaned over and fussed with straightening the bedclothes. Still, he let out a sharp gasp as Dean trailed a fingertip from the wiry hair at the apex of his legs down the silken skin of his shaft, watching it grow in length until the head peeked out from the foreskin. 

Castiel’s hand grasped Dean’s wrist, holding it tightly, and Dean felt his mouth fill with saliva, suddenly desperate to taste him. His attempt to wiggle closer was halted by Cas laying his other hand on Dean’s shoulder.

“Sleep.”

“Can’t.” Dean’s voice was a low rasp. “Hard.” He sighed at Cas’ shuddering breath.

“I know… I’m sorry it’s… the pheromones.” Dean watched Cas’ Adam’s apple bob in his throat, and Dean scrambled to pull his shirt over his head, tossed it aside. 

“Wanna suck you.”

Castiel’s chuckle was low and warm, and Dean’s hand closed over his own rigid length still clothed in his boxers, feeling the damp spot over the head. “You’ll regret that tomorrow.”

“Won’t.” Dean panted as his hand under the covers pressed at his aching cock. There was a rumble in Cas’ chest, Dean’s eyes drawing from his dick to his face, and found that his pupils had grown so wide they’d taken over his eyes, no blue left.

“You’re lucky I fed only this morning,” Dean thought he heard Cas murmur to himself before he released him and pressed two fingers to his temple. Then everything was dark.


	7. Angels are Watching Over You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Cas have visitors. The God-Squad doesn't know what hit 'em.

Dean sat up like a shot, heart slamming into his ribs as he tried to pull air into his lungs. The room was still dark, and he felt in his bones that it would be that way for a while more. He listened hard, trying to hear if there was any movement in the apartment. The faint outline of his bedroom door, which remained cracked, was barely visible, but Dean heard the creak of the hinge as the heat kicked on. He felt that tingle at the base of his spine, anticipation warming his fingertips at the sound of something scraping against the wood, the hinges giving another croak. 

The pulse of adrenaline that tightened his pores broke over him like a wave as the giant cartoon eyes of the unicorn balloon peeked in at him. It attempted to nudge its way into the room, buoyed back by the door only to bump against it once more, finally squeezing in. Dean dropped his head, heaving a sigh and chuckling at himself before throwing the blanket back and swinging his feet over the side of the bed. He glanced at his alarm clock, seeing that it was a little after three a.m., and rubbed his face hard before standing and ambling around the bed towards the bathroom. He socked the ballon right in its stupid rainbow horn as he passed, and his fist left an indentation that made the unicorn look cross-eyed and somehow stern. 

Dean hissed as his toes hit the cool tile, hand flicking to lift the toilet seat. He let his head hang back as he relieved himself, and when he opened his eyes again, he jumped, the toilet seat slamming with a loud smack. He glared hard at the balloon in the doorway as he tucked himself away. 

“What is it, Lassie? Is Timmy in the well?” Dean snarked, stepping to the sink to wash his hands, and the balloon just hung in the air, smiling its dumb cartoon smile. “Get outta the way.”

He punched the balloon again as he passed, the string coiling around his forearm, and he frowned. He contemplated the white ribbon against his tan skin. Dean looked up, head canting to the side as he took slow steps back into the bedroom, eyes on the window. 

The balloon trailed him, tugged along still attached to his wrist as he approached the chilled pane squinting out at the salvage yard. The waxing moon lit on rusted metal, casting long shadows. Dean didn’t like the sense of unease in his gut. 

“Come back to bed.”

Dean didn’t so much jump as his body propelled itself into the air on sheer adrenaline alone. Sparks shot from his fingers, but that was the only reaction, no busted lamps or dresser drawers dumping themselves to the floor. The feeling of being wrapped tight to the point of suffocation began to make him panic. 

“Relax, Dean.” 

Dean’s eyes landed on Cas, who was lounging on his bed as if it were his own, naked body clearly on display. Dean’s mouth went dry as he took in the expanse of his skin, milk-white in the dark. Cas smirked, and Dean looked up and away. 

“How... what... why? In my bed. Naked. What?” Dean managed to stutter, focusing on a crack in the ceiling when a cloud went over the moon, rendering everything to shadow. 

“I can change back if you prefer. I was able to modify my animal form to-”

“I-I-I’d prefer you not… in my bed…naked…” Dean’s voice was weak to his own ears, the hazy memory of how he got to bed trying to clarify itself, but all he got was a furious sense of longing. “Are you fucking doxing me with pheromones?”

Cas held up a hand, hissing sharply through his teeth as he cocked his head to the side, listening hard. His eyes met Dean’s after a moment, lips pressed into a thin line, and a speech bubble floated across his consciousness. 

_No matter what happens, don’t tell them about the bond._

Dean frowned. “Wha-“

He didn’t even get the word out, the bedroom door flying open as Cas disappeared into a black shape darker than the darkness around him. Hands tight as steel bands wrapped around Dean’s wrists and clamped down on the scruff of his neck. There was no point in struggling, but Dean did anyway, wrenching bruises into his own skin and the crinkle of mylar as the balloon was batted between the two assailants, string still wrapped around his forearm. Dean could feel the energy reversing through his body, gathering at the base of his spine, and he went still, closed his eyes.

He was in the kitchen, the smell of gas strong as he stood over the stove, all burners on, but the pilot light was out, oven door wide open. He reached into his pocket, fingers closing over the zippo that had been his father’s. Dean flipped open the cap, the pad of his thumb feeling at home against the flint wheel before he applied pressure.

The _sckritch_ of ignition echoed inside Dean’s head as his eyes opened back in his bedroom, focused on the window though he could see the two assailants in his peripheral in the microsecond before the pulse. Dean wasn’t sure if there was actually a sound, but the pressure alone punctured both his eardrums, and the ringing inside his head was so loud, the burst of light so bright he could only close his eyes against it and hope that whatever damage he did would kill him before he had to clean up the mess.

Dean didn’t know how much time had passed, but he came to consciousness suddenly, a deep gasp tearing from his throat, his eyes wide as he stared into the shadowed dark. His breath came out in a cloud, and he gave a hard shiver as a gust of wind moved through his hair, but that was impossible. He was sitting on the floor near the foot of his bed, the threadbare rug under one palm while he struggled to hook his elbow onto his knee as he sat up. He was looking out over the dirt lot that butted up to the parking lot of the garage where he kept the project cars - junkers he or someone else might want to fix up someday. The scattered treetops beyond the fence surrounding it were now devoid of leaves and loose branches, the clear night sky stretching above in an infinity of stars. The entire wall and half the roof was gone.

“You’re alright.”

Dean jumped, nearly breaking his neck to look over his shoulder, and scrambled away, but it was only Cas, sitting with his back to the footboard of the bed in one of Sam’s Stanford sweatshirts that Dean absolutely had not stolen and flannel sleep pants with a bunch of hot dogs all over them that Dean had gotten from Becky last Christmas as a gag gift. Dean suddenly realized he’d been lying with his head in Cas’ lap.

“What happened?” Dean winced instantly, his voice echoing sharply, scratching and reverberating against his busted eardrums. He reached up as if to cover them, fingers skimming over blood, still slightly tacky on the side of his face.

“You were attacked by Angels. Rogues, I’d imagine. They didn’t seem to sense me. Probably low ranking. Where did you send them?”

Dean gave a weak shrug, and Castiel frowned. Dean scowled. “Don’t look at me like that.” He heaved a sigh as he looked over his shoulder at the gaping hole in the side of his room then hung his head. “Fuck, what are the odds nobody saw or heard that?” Dean scrubbed his face hard with his hands.

He jumped when he felt Castiel’s fingertips skim against the back of his wrist and the shiver that quaked through him had nothing to do with the chill. He looked up at Cas, finding that his eyes were beginning to glow as he held up a palm. It was instinct that made Dean press his own palm against it. There was no seal, but warmth began to climb from his fingertips up his arm, and it spread throughout his body. Dean was short of breath, the sound behind him loud and irritated his sore ears, power radiating against his back like a bonfire. Cas’ hand pressed harder, and Dean pushed back, receiving another wave of warmth through him, feeling it settle in his lower belly, tingle all the way down to his toes.

He wasn’t sure how much time passed, lost in the glow of Cas’ eyes and the intoxicating feeling of energy swirling through him when he noticed the light begin to dim, and suddenly he was hyper-aware of their surroundings. The noise seemed to have stopped as soon as his ears stopped ringing, the intense ache suddenly gone. Dean reached up to prod under his ear before snapping a finger next to it, opened and closed his mouth, and it was as if he’d been healed. Or hadn’t been injured at all.

Dean whipped around, the sudden movement making the world tip on its axis. He almost felt drunk as he turned on his hip to crawl across the floor, pressing fingers to drywall, the wood of the sill, and the glass of the windowpane. Outside, the night was quiet, a few flurries swirling in the frigid air, but he was warm and whole inside his room as if everything that had just happened were nothing but a terrible dream.

He heard movement behind him and turned to find Castiel gone, in his place a small black cat Dean didn’t recognize. It was sleek and long, with short, sparse fur and knobby paws. Its almond-shaped head and big satellite ears gave it an alien appearance, face dominated by giant blue eyes. When it padded over to him, swaying a bit as if drunk, Dean automatically lifted a hand, palm connecting with its head, the feline helpfully flattening its ears for Dean to run his hand across the length of its back. 

It was definitely Cas. Dean somehow just knew that despite the change in appearance, he could sense it somehow in the same way he could anticipate arrivals, see auras, and sense trouble before it began. He was suddenly very tired, body sagging as if his muscles were made of stone. He didn’t bother getting to his feet, probably couldn’t if he’d tried but managed to scoop up the cat and cradle it in his elbow against his chest as he knee-walked over to the bed.

It hopped out of his arms as he hauled himself up onto the mattress, struggling with the blankets before giving up and letting his body go limp, face tucked against his pillow as the cat let its body topple over, thumping into his chest. His arm came up, instinctually curling around the small warm body. Both were asleep in seconds, undisturbed by the rustling of the blankets as they were drug over them by some unseen hand and the soft _snick_ of Dean’s alarm sliding into the off position seemingly all by itself.


	8. The Upside of a Holy Sex-Demon Roommate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Cas wake up together and Becky gets an eyeful.

Dean hadn’t remembered falling asleep with someone the night before, but there was  _ definitely _ someone in his bed when he came to consciousness the next morning. He was in that hazy place of half coherence, warm and pliable, so the feeling of arms around him and breath warm against the nape of his neck was welcome and endearing. Dean shifted, and the body moved with him, muscular thighs tucked under his, naked skin hot against his where his boxers had ridden up in the night. 

Suddenly his morning wood was insistent and undeniable, want pulsing through his veins hot enough to melt him. He hoped whoever he brought home last night was okay with a repeat performance because he needed to get off. Now.

Panting, he struggled to shove his boxers down under the covers, the arm around his waist trying to keep him still surprisingly strong for a woman. She hushed him, the gust of breath on his neck only ratcheting his desire higher, and when a warm, wet kiss landed on the top-notch of his spine, a dribble of precum slipped wetly down his shaft.

“Fuck, baby, let me-“ Dean’s voice choked off as the blankets lifted and hot skin plastered against his back, a large hand drifting over his hip to grip him at the base as an equally hard dick nestled against the crack of his ass. “ _ Whatthe-!” _

But all coherence was lost as he sucked in a deep breath and the air around him was thick with a heady mix of musk and somehow leather with a sharp note of gasoline. He was reminded of his first time, wonderstruck and desperate, as Rhonda Hurley straddled his hips in the backseat of the Impala. 

“Oh fuck,” he choked as the hand on his dick began to stroke, plush lips sucked at the space between his neck and shoulder, teeth grazing. 

Dean was helpless with pleasure, marveling at how a simple handy was turning him into a trembling mess. The thick velvet heat of the erection pressing to his backside alarmed him every time the realization surfaced, but it was swept away quickly before the panic could take hold. Fuck it; he didn’t care if whoever it was behind him railed him like some prison bitch as long as they kept jerking him slow and tight, kept placing searing hot kisses behind his ear and down his neck. 

He felt the wet dribble of precum slip its way down his lower back, between his cheeks, and suddenly a dick up the ass was all he could think about, feeling hollow and infuriatingly empty as he tried to rut back into the man’s thrusts, dick forgotten for the moment. 

“Oh god, you have to fuck me. Now. Do it now.” 

Dean pressed his fists to his forehead, trying to turn onto his stomach but was held in place by strong thighs as they curled around his, and he cried out as that rigid length, slick and hot, slipped between his cheeks. He felt his hole flutter as the ridge under the head drug against it, and it was only the brute strength of the hands on his hips that kept him from trying to impale himself on it.

The pitiful whine that left his mouth would have embarrassed him if it hadn’t gotten him the dry slide of impossibly smooth skin along the length of his crack, the weight of the other man’s balls pressing against his own. Dean found himself rutting back into it, hands grappling for the ones clamped on his hips, and the man behind him gasped as Dean ripped them forward, forcing them to wrap tightly around him and suctioning the man’s front to Dean’s back. 

“ _ Yesyesyes _ ,” Dean panted, hands squeezing the delicately long fingers in his, pressing them to his chest, and canted his hips back harder as those fingers circled his nipples. When they pinched, he wailed, throwing his head back, and he heard the low rumble of a moan behind him as his bedmate leaned back, peeling his chest from Dean’s shoulder blades to give him more leverage to fuck into the crease of his ass.

It was slick now, Dean’s hole clenching and fluttering as the head and thick vein at the bottom of the shaft stimulated him to near madness. He was babbling without realizing, saying how good it felt, how he needed to be filled, begging for the other man’s come.

When a hand closed around his own dick again it was electric, like the first time he’d ever touched himself and felt a jolt of pleasure so strong he couldn’t stop himself from doing it again. Sweat was gathering at his temples, making the sheets stick to his skin, and when another hand snaked around to fondle his balls, he was all but done for, a choked sob escaping his mouth as he curled into the most intense orgasm of his life.

It was just beginning to subside, Dean sucking in one full breath before a low grunt behind him and a sharp shove of hips prefaced the sticky, wet pulse of his partner’s release. Dean’s eyes opened wide as his flagging erection suddenly surged to full mast, and he was coming again, harder than the last time, voice hoarse as he rutted back into the intoxicating slide and forward again into the tight channel of a fist, slick with his own release. 

He was a panting, whimpering mess when it was over, but the satisfaction of release, the slow uncoiling of muscles, and the post coital drowsiness were nowhere in sight. His balls ached from his climax, but goddamn if he wasn’t also aching to go again, right that second, the come between his asscheeks making his skin burn and beg to be touched, licked, fucked. 

His bedmate was planting lazy kisses on his shoulder blade, so Dean caught him off guard when he rolled over abruptly, eyes still closed with hands reaching blindly for his head as their lips collided. Dean’s savage moan at the plush, dry lips with the taste of coffee and something sweet, maybe a danish or syrup. Morning breath be damned, Dean licked into that mouth, sucking on the tongue and throwing a leg over the man’s hip. Their dicks slotted together, and Dean’s back arched into it, throwing his head back with a sharp gasp. A large hand splayed wide across his lower back, supporting him, guiding him to ride against the thick thigh between his legs. 

“Oh, fuck me, I’m-“ Dean’s voice choked off as he looked down into lust dark eyes, and Cas gave Dean a feral smile. 

Dean’s heartbeat was ratcheting up, watching the blue of Castiel’s eyes slowly shrinking as his pupils grew. His hand snatched out, fingers curling around Dean’s thigh, and yanked, pulling Dean under him before Dean could take a breath, much less protest.

They were lost to the dirty grind of their erections then, Dean marveling at how he’d already come twice and was growing hard again already. It almost hurt, but the bliss was all-encompassing, especially when Castiel’s mouth claimed his, sucking and biting at his lips, fucking his tongue into his mouth with the same rhythm his hips were rocking against Dean’s. 

His third orgasm of the morning was dry and almost painful, dick jerking hard against Castiel’s. This seemed to be all Cas needed, dick straining hard as it painted Dean’s torso white. Dean felt like he was on fire, the need for more at odds with his dry throat and rumbling stomach, his shaft and balls aching and sensitive. His limbs were all tangled in Castiel’s, the man sucking hickeys onto his collarbone, hips nudging against Dean’s as if on instinct.

“I can’t.” Dean swallowed thickly, head digging back into the pillows as Castiel’s tongue flicked a nipple. “Cas, I can’t.”

“Sure you can. I’ll help.” Castiel’s hand closed around Dean’s cock, and it was so achingly hard again that Dean nearly wept.

“No,” Dean whined, shaking his head as Castiel’s lips left tingling, fiery trails down his stomach. “Cas, please.”

“Shhh, lay back.” 

Dean looked down and felt a pulse of fear go through him, Castiel’s inky eyes on his, one hand reaching up to his chest while the other splayed over his hip, possessive. 

“Your eyes.” Dean snapped his shut. “Fix your eyes.”

Castiel’s sharp hiss made Dean look down at him and found the man’s face screwed up, eyes squeezed shut, forehead resting on Dean’s hipbone. When he looked up, his eyes were leaking but back to their stunning blue. Dean couldn’t stop himself from touching Cas’ cheek, thumbing at the wetness.

He hadn’t meant to pull him closer to his dick; it just kind of happened, his fingers twisting into the mess of hair at Castiel’s crown as he mouthed at the head. Dean figured he shouldn’t have been surprised that a sex demon had no gag reflex, but the novelty of it was enough to set him off, coming hard in pitiful dribbles that turned into a flood when Cas rolled his balls. 

Dean was a mess of sweaty limbs in the middle of the bed, arm thrown over his eyes, hissing, and wincing as Castiel teased his overly sensitive shaft with kitten licks. 

“Fuck, we gotta stop,” Dean moaned softly as Castiel’s nose nuzzled the base of his shaft, stubble tickling his balls. “Cas, stop.”

Just like that, Castiel slipped off the end of the back and backed up until he hit the doorframe. Dean stared down the length of his body at the other man, seemingly pinned to the wall. His eyes were deep blue and staring. Dean had the sudden urge to grip his dick, put on a show. But he was so tired...

“You need to take a shower.” Castiel’s voice was a wrecked rumble.

A whine bubbled in Dean’s throat, but he found himself sitting up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed as if compelled by an unseen force. His eyes stayed on Castiel as he padded to the bathroom, nearly breaking his neck in his effort to keep contact when he passed into the room. It was easier then. 

Turning on the shower and stepping under the spray was all it took for the haze of pheromones and lust to lift, and he found himself bent at the waist, gagging while bile wrung itself from his empty stomach. He scrubbed himself hard, every inch of his body, and nearly cried at the stimulation on his overused cock. When he exited the shower, a towel wrapped securely around his waist, he found the bed stripped, and the intoxicating smell of bacon and coffee wafted through the open door. He hastily pulled on his clothes, having to switch from jeans to sweatpants when the pressure and friction of denim nearly buckled his knees.

Castiel was at the stove, one hand hovering over a pan of bacon, the other waving lazily over a pan of scrambled eggs that were stirring themselves. Dean wasn’t sure how long he stood there, but eventually, Castiel noticed him and bid him sit at the island. Dean did as he was asked, emotions twisted and confused. A roiling anxiety was ghosting through his stomach, but it felt distinctly other. It took him a minute to realize it was Cas who was nervous.

“Drink the juice. You need the complex sugars.” A glass of orange juice slid from the opposite side of the counter to between his hands.

Dean looked down at it before he lifted it to his lips and took a sip that quickly turned into him guzzling it down, trying to coax the last drop from the bottom. Then Castiel was putting a plate heaped with bacon and cheesy scrambled eggs in front of him, a fork sliding across the counter and into his hand. Dean attacked the breakfast with a ferocity that didn’t allow for table manners. Castiel filled his juice a few more times, and when Dean’s plate was empty, he shoved it away from himself and folded his arms on the table to rest his head there.

“Dean-“

“Let’s not talk right now.”

“Dean, I-”

“What did I just say?”

It was silent for a moment before the flood of emotions came, and Dean lowered his head, assaulted by guilt and sorrow so palpable he was suffocating. He gasped at the intensity of it and, despite it not being his own, immediately shut down.

Running. Running through the stacks, bare feet on the rough boards of the porch, threadbare runner of the entryway, cold wood of the stairs as he pounded his way up to the second floor. Past the first door and into the second, it slammed closed behind him without provocation. Dean dove for the bed threw the comforter over himself and breathed hard.

He laid there heart pounding, his panting breath turning the air around him humid, and sweat broke out on his upper lip. He looked down at himself, body impossibly small in race car pajamas. Dean heaved a shaky sigh, closing his eyes and letting his head rest back against the pillow. 

_ Dean? _

His eyes flew open, and he wasn’t under the blankets in his childhood room anymore. He was back in his kitchen, slumped on a barstool while a sex demon held his face in his hands. Dean flailed, shoving at the other man, but Castiel held strong, searching Dean’s eyes.

“Let me go. Now.” 

Castiel’s hands flew from his face as if Dean had slapped them away, the other man stumbling backward, and he hit the fridge with a clatter, the back of his head smacking the handle making an audible sound. He was gone then, a small dark shape in a pile of soft fabric, shaking its head dazedly. Dean slipped off the barstool before he thought to do it, panic surging in his chest as he reached for the cat. It hissed and flattened its ears with a growl.

Dean rolled his eyes. “It was an accident.” Another grumbly growl as the cat lowered to its haunches, staying in the pile of clothes as it glared up at Dean. Its face was considerably more menacing now with its pointed face and boney skull. “Man, what’d that spell do to your cat form? You look like a gremlin that ate after midnight.”

The cat’s eyes narrowed, head tipping to the side, and Dean fought a chuckle.  _ This was my own doing. Your cat allergy was becoming more and more problematic- _

“Yeah, sorry my near-death experience was harshing our vibe.” Dean snorted.

“- _ and while I can’t change my animal form, I was able to modify the breed.” _ Cas’ tail flicked.

“So what are you now?”

_ A devon rex. _ It sat up, giant ears twitching.  _ It has the least maintenance of the hypoallergenic breeds aside from the Sphinx. I did not desire to be hairless. _

Dean burst out laughing despite himself, and the cat narrowed its eyes again. “Yeah, being a hairless pussy would be pretty humiliating.”

Dean gave a squawk as one second he was looking down at a small black cat and was now looking down at muscular calves with dark wiry hair. Dean felt his face flame at the sight of Castiel’s cock, long and uncut right in front of his face. Castiel let out a chuckle, looking down at him, head tipped to the side.

“You know most American’s prefer me circumcised.” 

“Thanks for the bit of trivia there, Trebek can you maybe-“

Castiel’s hand closed around Dean’s jaw, pressing his thumb to Dean’s lips, and a surge of want pulsed through him despite himself, something about the feel of Cas’ hands on his skin… But the Familiar wasn’t looking at him. His head had lifted a microsecond before a feminine voice hollered from the other side of the door.

“Dean! It’s Becky. You’re not answering your phone. I’m using my key! Please don’t be dead!”

Dean blinked away the fog in his head and turned to look over his shoulder just as the door opened. “Becky, no!”

But he was too late, the door swinging open to reveal the petite blond, perfectly put together in a pair of khakis and a vest over her plaid shirt. A gasp tore from her throat as she took in Dean’s position and Castiel’s level of undress. Dean glanced back but averted his face quickly, unable to decide which direction was the least humiliating.

“I… am so…  _ sorry _ !” Becky squeaked though she actually sounded like she was trying not to giggle. “Um… I’ll let you two…erm…” She did giggle then and ducked her head, pulling the door closed, and Dean rolled his eyes as her elated cackle wafted down the stairwell. 

Dean turned to glare up at Cas, who was looking at the closed door in contemplation, tongue running along his bottom lip, and Dean swatted his thigh hard enough to sting. Cas glared down at him rubbing the spot.

“Don’t look at her like that asshole.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “You couldn’t have turned yourself back into a gremlin before she saw this.” Dean gestured between himself and Cas, who smirked.

“Could have.” He gave a shrug. “Didn’t feel like it.”

“Fuck you, help me up.” 

Cas held out a hand, and Dean grasped it, huffing as Castiel lifted him effortlessly to his feet. Dean’s face was dangerously close to the sex demon’s, breathing in the hint of coffee and sugar on Cas’ breath, pupil’s dilating. Cas smirked, blinking his eyes to black. “I did both already this morning.”

The shattering of glass startled them both apart, Dean backpedaling and glancing towards the source of the noise. His orange juice glass lay shattered on the floor next to the island. Dean frowned.

“You didn’t do that.” Castiel’s tone was contemplative, not questioning, and Dean didn’t look at him.

“Put some pants on for chrissakes.”

Dean hurried back into his bedroom, looking around but found that nothing was out of place. He stepped over to the wall that not five hours ago had been blown away and pressed his fingertips against it. Solid and real, undamaged. He peeked out the window and saw nothing out of place there either, just another gray February day like any other. Dean spun to walk around the bed, eyeing it warily, but he felt normal, no residual musk of sex in the air. He shook his head and crouched down by the bed, looking under it but only found a couple of socks and his stash of Busty Asian Beauties.

“Is something missing?” 

Dean yelped as he cracked his head on the bed frame, scowling up at Castiel, who was next to him again, uncomfortably close but thankfully wearing pants. “Nothin’”

Dean stood and went into the bathroom, peeked around the shower curtain, and eyed the door across the room. “You seem like you’re searching for something.”

Dean turned to glare at Castiel, who was in the doorway now, glancing around the space. Dean waved his hands at him, trying to shoo him out. “Not important.”

Something wet hit him between the shoulder blades, and he yelped, turning to find his loofah on the floor at his feet. Dean huffed and ambled back over to the shower, hooking it on the shower caddy. Castiel thought he heard him mutter. “I’ll get you a new one; calm down.”

“A new what?”

Dean growled softly before he spun around and plastered a sunny smile on his face. “Well, aren’t you just  _ full _ of questions today?” Dean barreled towards him, corralling Castiel back into the bedroom and then out to the kitchen. “Can you sweep up that glass? I gotta get downstairs before Becky comes back with a camera.”

Castiel crossed his arms over his chest, and Dean absolutely did not check out the way it accentuated his biceps. “What’s in it for me?” 

Dean rolled his eyes. “You know I could just order you to do it?” Castiel blinked at him, unmoved. “Fine, if you manage not to bother me too much  _ and _ keep your dick in your pants, we can brew some potions later or some shit.”

A smile quirked at Castiel’s lips. “Well, seeing as you’re growing rather fond of me  _ and _ I already fed today, I find your terms agreeable.”

Dean snorted, throwing his hands in the air and stomping back towards his bedroom. “Whatever, dude. I am not fond of-“ He disappeared through the doorway only to pop his head back out. “Wait…  _ what _ ?”

A smirk pulled across Castiel’s lips. “Nothing. Have a lovely day.”

Dean was just about to respond when something soft hit him on the shoulder, and he looked down as a balled-up sock fell to the floor. He rolled his eyes, muttering. “Yeah, yeah, I’m going. I’m going.”


	9. Another Balloon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean asks Becky for another balloon and gets a special delivery from the Sheriff who takes a liking to Dean's new cat.

Becky was waiting for him next to his first project of the day with a steaming cup of coffee and a beaming smile. Dean took it begrudgingly and set it on the fender while she babbled about her weekend. He hummed in all the right places, asked her not to mention it when she brought up the imaginary spa package he’d planted in her head in place of what had actually happened to her the previous day. It was when she started in on, “Sooooo, your friend up there… is he…” that Dean finally cut her off and sent her pouting back to the front office.

Dean was sure his day couldn’t get much worse but found that the rest of his morning dotted with frustrations and near calamities. The windshield wipers on the Ford he’d worked on the day before mysteriously stopped working, and he somehow managed to spray himself in the face with washer fluid while trying to inspect them. He misplaced his lug wrench and then his backup lug wrench, and then his  _ backup _ backup lug wrench. It wasn’t until he was under the hood of an old Suburban, trying to listen for a tick in the engine, and the horn went off. It was so loud he was sure it’d blown his eardrum  _ again. _ Dean knew what was happening. 

“Goddammit,” he grumbled to himself, grabbing a rag and stomping towards the front office. “ _ Becky _ ! I need-“

He cut himself off as he breezed through the door and found the front office empty, Becky’s purse on the counter. A thump from the manager’s office drew his attention. 

“Oh Jesus, not again,” Dean muttered under his breath and charged in. 

What he found was Becky on her knees in the middle of the room, her face screwing up in alarm when she looked up at him. Something dark scrabbled out from under a filing cabinet, thumping into his shins before tearing out of the small room. Dean watched as the cat ran hard at the garage door, barely nudging it open a crack and got stuck, back feet scratching for purchase as the heavy door pinned its ribs. Dean hurried over, pressing his fingertips to the door, and as soon as he applied enough pressure to open the door a smidge more, the cat was off like a shot, disappearing somewhere in the garage. 

Dean snorted. “Serves you right, you little shit.”

“Oh, Dean! No! He’s so tiny!” Becky rose to her feet, frowning deeply, and made to go after the cat. “He needs help.”

“He’s fine. I need you to call the flower shop and get me another one of those balloons.”

Becky blinked up at him. “The dumb unicorn balloon you keep dragging all over the place?”

Dean glared at her. “I don’t keep dragging it- Look, can you order one, please? I don’t give a shit if it’s a unicorn that’s just the stupid one Sam got before he-“ 

Becky’s eyes grew large. “Oh,  _ Dean _ , I’m so sorry!”

“It’s fine.” Dean reached into the credenza for his wallet.

“Sam got that for you for your birthday. I’m the biggest jerk on the- “

“And maybe go pick up some lunch?” Dean reached into the wallet and pulled out a twenty, ignoring her.

“-face of the planet. I thought it was just some dumb joke between you two. I didn’t think about the sentimental-“

“Get yourself something too.” Dean pulled out another twenty and held it out to her as she scrambled to pull her phone out of her pocket.

“-value of it. Of course, I’ll order the balloon.” 

She threw her arms around his neck, and all Dean could do was stand there and take it as she squeezed the life out of him. He sighed after a moment, giving her a few half-hearted pats on the back, and she finally let him go. Dean gave her a strained smile as she dropped her head, typing furiously into her phone. Dean cleared his throat, and she looked up as he held the cash out between two fingers. She quickly finished her message and reached for the bills.

She was already around the counter when she turned back and held up the cash.” Maybe some cat food?”

“You get whatever you want, but I’ll take a sub from the deli.”

Becky rolled her eyes so hard her entire body moved with it as she snatched her purse from the counter, and Dean chuckled at her. “You’re such a goof.”

“Never claimed not to be,” He hollered after her as she exited the shop with a tinkle of the bell. 

Dean made his way back into the garage and huffed a sigh, looking around the space. “Cas?”

_ Is she gone? _

Dean chuckled. “Yeah. She try and have her way with you again?”

The sound of paper rustling drew Dean’s attention, and he glanced over at his workbench, watching the cat climb out of an empty box that once held a new side mirror for a 1998 Corolla. 

_ No, she just wanted to know if I belonged to anyone. _ The cat hopped up onto the fender again as Dean changed the head on his wrench. 

“How’d she trap you in the office?”

_ She closed the door. _

Dean paused. “Why were you in the office?”

The cat’s head tipped to the side.  _ Why would you not want me in the office? _

Dean chuckled darkly, pointing the wrench at the cat. “Now, I asked you first.”

_ I was assessing your protections _ .

Dean cracked his head on the hood. “What? Why _? _ ”

Dean had never seen a cat roll its eyes before. It was disconcerting.  _ Because the angels got in here somehow last night, and I was trying to figure out how. _

Dean’s jaw flexed. “They were angels? For sure?”

The cat’s blue eyes bore into his, and Dean’s vision went out like the changing of a slide. What was in front of him clicked away, replaced with the image of him standing at the window of his bedroom as two men in suits burst through the door. From the vantage point he could tell he was on his bed, tucked behind a lump in the blankets that dwarfed his entire body. He felt the kick drum of a tiny heart in his chest, the flick of his tail and the twitch of whiskers. He was ready, body tensed, waiting for himself to make a move, and was overcome with a sense of confusion and terror when he watched his own body go completely still and pliable in the angels’ hands. The two exchanged looks, a pause long enough to question why the mage wasn’t fighting - Dean heard their silent exchange in his own head over the murmuring of thousands of other voices, like static clawing at the base of his skull. He was startled as he watched his own body reanimate, shoulders rolling back so he stood straight and at his full height, could see the reflection of his face in the dark windowpane as he rolled his shoulders back and tipped up his chin. Dean watched his eyes open and then was blinded, felt his face bury in the blanket, the scent of motor oil and his aftershave strong as power rocketed through his tiny frame, feeling like he was being shoved through the eye of a needle and then flayed open. As soon as it started, it stopped, and when he opened his eyes, half of the room was blown away. He was still standing there, cold air blowing his hair back, skin pebbled from the cold. And then his body collapsed.

Dean blinked, and the scene was gone, seeing nothing but the cat and the car in front of him. He leaned heavily on the grill, suddenly in tune once again with his galloping heart and panting breath. 

_ I thought you were dead at first. _

“I thought so too.” Dean glanced over at the cat. “Is that what it feels like for you? When I… do anything?”

The cat lifted its paw and began to wash its face.  _ No, that was new.  _ It looked at Dean again, blue eyes searching.  _ That didn’t feel like it was entirely you. It was your power, but the pain… that felt…wrong. _

Dean shifted, reaching up to scratch his ear. “Do you know where they ended up?”

The cat huffed.  _ No, but we can hear their cries wherever they are. The chatter in Heaven speaks of a large disturbance on earth. No one dares look for them. They think it’s- _ The words stopped, and in Dean’s mind, he saw something amorphous and bright, the vision stirring a sense of dread in his stomach.

Dean heaved a shaky breath. “Lucifer.”

The cat’s chin tipped down as if in a nod.  _ No one knew of their mission if it was, in fact, a mission and not an unsanctioned attempt at retribution. _

“How do you know this?” Dean’s brow creased, leaning closer to the cat. “You’re talking like you know what those winged dicks are planning.”

Amusement fluttered under Dean’s ribs.  _ I do know what those… ah… “winged dicks” are planning. _ Dean chuckled as the quotation marks wiggled in his mind’s eye like Castiel was making the gesture with his fingers.  _ I am part of the Host, despite my demon half. _

Dean’s brows raised. “ _ You _ have access to angel radio?”

_ If you like _ .

“So you could have known about the attack last night.”

_ In theory. Your radio analogy is particularly apt. The more critical the conversation, the more angels involved, the clearer the signal. It’s possible to tune in to lesser chatter but substantially harder when you don’t know what or who you’re looking for. It’s confirmed they were of low rank and… well… overall very stupid. _

Dean snorted. “Do they know you listen in?”

The cat blinked at him.  _ I…  _ Dean felt a sense of befuddlement try to pull the corners of his mouth down.  _ I don’t think they do anymore. Not since I was changed. _

“You mean when you became a Familiar?” Dean’s shoulders tensed when his own head nodded at the question. “Don’t do that.” The cat lifted its paw again and began to chew on its claws. “Didn’t anybody ever teach you not to bite your nails?”

A sharp burst of laughter made Dean jump, sparks shooting from his fingers, but that was the only reaction, no flying tools or honking horns. Something soft brushed his forearm, and his stomach unknotted, cool breath filling his lungs. He looked down to see the cat had walked the length of the grill, small body, slinking against Dean’s arm. Another chuckle from the doorway made Dean look up with a glare. 

Sheriff Jodi Mills stood in the doorway between the front office and the garage, her aura an orange gradating to deep mocha. She looked absolutely charmed, arms crossed over her chest while she pressed her fingertips to her lips to hide her amusement. Dean’s ears went pink, feeling the cat turn in a circle to face the door and though the sheriff didn’t crumple with a disgustingly sappy  _ awwww _ when its tail wrapped around Dean’s forearm, the twitching end tickling at the crease of his elbow, her aura had turned a rich pink bordering on red.

Dean shook it off, scratching his arm before he reached for a rag to wipe his hands. “‘ey Sheriff!” Dean plastered a big smile on his face, shuffling over, and watched the woman’s aura glow golden with her smile as she reached for Dean’s hand. 

Dean took it, allowing his mind to open, and was flooded with images and sounds but nothing Dean expected. A deathly pale hand extending from the low brush on the side of a deserted road. The county coroner crouching over one of two corpses, the front of their bodies nothing but shredded viscera and exposed bone, but when they rolled one, they found the back perfectly intact, determining they were male and in suits. The coroner’s perturbed face as he looked up and said, “This ain’t CSI, Sheriff Mills. No clue what did this. Lemme get ’em back to the morgue.”

Dean released the sheriff’s hand and forced a smile. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Well,” Jodi began as she reached behind her, past the door again, and struggled to tug through a large unicorn balloon, identical to the one that had been floating around the place since Cas met him. Her eyes drifted just past him. “I had a special delivery for y-”

“Oh uh… thanks” He looked at the sparkly eyes and squinted. “This one is different.”

“Huh?” Jodi asked, but her eyes moved to his feet, and he looked down. Cas sat next to his boots, looking up at Jodi with big blue eyes. Dean eyed him, then the smiling face on the balloon.

“Come on,” Dean took the string and shuffled her through to the lobby, using his boot to nudge the cat back as he moved to close the door. The cat’s ears flattened. “You the new flower delivery g-? “A sharp hiss from behind the door made him jerk his head over his shoulder and glare at it. Jodi chuckled, and Dean just rolled his eyes, waving his hands to nudge her back out from behind the counter. “Thanks for bringing this by.” Dean tugged the string maneuvering the balloon so that it hovered over the credenza. “How’s that cruiser holdin’ up?”

Jodi gave a soft laugh devoid of humor, and a whisp of goldenrod broke through, her fondness of Dean providing respite from the ugliness of whatever she was dealing with on her case. “Still clunking along, but uh… this isn’t an official visit.”

“Oh,” Dean said and smiled wider, trying to dispel the gray. “You finally taking me up on that dinner invitation?” Jodi’s face flushed, but her laugh was loud, and Dean enjoyed the puff of yellow that chased away the grunge, a bit of red tinting it orange. Dean had to admit, flirting with the sheriff was one of his favorite pastimes even if they both knew it was all just good fun. 

Jodi shook her head, her smile turning tart. “Dean I’m old enough to be your mother.”

“Nah,” Dean grinned, leaning over the counter to give her bedroom eyes, “Maybe my  _ friend’s _ mother…” Dean wiggled his brows, and Jodi actually rolled her eyes.

“Keep it in your pants, Winchester. I need a favor.”

Dean smirked. “I’m listening.”

“So, uh, I know some of the locals, they sometimes come to you for-  _ whoa _ .”

Dean jumped himself as the black cat landed on the counter at his side and huffed an annoyed sigh. He glared down at the cat, who sat down right on the sign-in sheet and blinked passively up at the sheriff.

“Who’s this little fella?” Jodi grinned, bending a little to be eye level with Castiel, who looked over his shoulder at Dean. 

“Just a stray I can’t get rid of.” 

Dean reached to grab the cat around the ribs, but it managed to wiggle out of Dean’s hands and whip Dean in the face with his tail. It settled itself back on the sign-in sheet once again, eyes closed and purring when Jodi reached to pet his head in slow, methodic strokes.

“I don’t think I’ve seen a black cat with blue eyes before.”

“Uh… yeah, he’s special, I guess.”

The cat’s eyes popped open to stare at Dean, who found himself blushing. Jodi looked up as well, and a smile tugged at the corner of her lips. “Thought you said it was a stray?”

“He is. I mean…”

“I can take it to animal control for you if you-”

Jodi’s sentence cut off abruptly as Dean’s eyes widened, about to protest, but the cat leaped from the counter, claws sinking into the canvas of his jumpsuit at his shoulder and collarbone. Dean hissed at the sting, turning his head away to avoid a face full of fur. The cat settled on his shoulder, its purr loud as a motor while nuzzling at Dean’s neck and ear before it began licking Dean’s hair.

Jodi’s bright burst of laughter caused Dean to scowl and cant his neck back to glare at the feline. It head-butted his nose, lifting its tail, and the purring got louder despite Dean’s grumbling. Dean finally reached up, grabbing onto the cat’s small body, marveling at how light it was only to be reminded of its strength as both front and back claws dug in and clung to his jumpsuit.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Let go, you little shit.”

Claws retracted immediately, and Dean was able to pull the cat from his shoulder and plop it back down on the counter. It sat and wiggled itself backward so that it pressed close to Dean’s chest without going over the edge. Dean mashed his lips together and huffed an annoyed sigh out his nose. When he looked at Jodi again, she was smirking at him.

“You got yourself a cat, Winchester.”

“Lucky me.” Dean’s voice was deadpan, and he felt the cat shift from side to side then settle. “You needed a favor?”

Jodi looked from the cat to Dean, her face going grim, and Dean hated the way the sunny yellow seemed to implode, swirling black to a dingy gray. “Yeah. So, look,” Jodi flicked out a hand, apprehension bleeding blue. “I know some of the locals are convinced you got some kinda weird mojo where you can pick lottery numbers and tell me if it’s gonna rain on my birthday-“

“It’s not.”

Jodi pursed her lips at him, and he grinned. “I got a case that’s… well, it’s pretty fucked up, and we’re nowhere on it.”

Dean crossed his arms over his chest. “Oh-kay?”

Jodi blinked at him. Dean blinked back.

_ She wants you to help her find the killer. _

“I know that.” Dean glared down at the cat, then cringed, realizing he’d said it out loud. “Uh… sorry. He’s… hungry and keeps hitting me with his tail.” The cat’s tail flipped out with a flourish and whipped back to wack into Dean’s side with an audible thump.

Jodi’s eyes narrowed, but she shook it off. “Right. So, can you… I dunno look in your crystal ball or whatever it is you do?” Jodi flicked a hand and dipped her head, embarrassment swirling navy through dimmed turquoise.

Dean forced himself to chuckle. “Uh… well, sheriff, I gotta admit this is kinda-“

“Yeah I know, it’s ridiculous.” Jodi threw her hands in the air and huffed. “Forget I even said anything.” She made to leave.

“Hang on.” 

Jodi stopped and looked back at him, and he could tell she was nervous. The cat’s tail hit him lightly again.

_ She’s afraid you may actually be able to help her, but she’s also afraid you won’t, which would mean you’re nuts. _

“Thank you; I got that.” Dean muttered out the corner of his mouth. “Any idea who those guys were?”

Jodi blinked. “How’d you-“

_ Dean… _

“-know it was-“

_ Dean, the angel’s vessels… _

_ “ _ -two men?”

_ You blew them out of their vessels and- _

“ _ I know! _ ” Dean’s voice came out louder than he intended and glanced down at the cat who had its head tipped back, looking at him upside down. Dean forced a spastic chuckle as he met the sheriff’s cautious gaze. “I know it’s weird, right? Do you have a case file or anything?”

“Uh. Yeah. I do.” She looked confused. “You think that will help?”

Dean looked around and shrugged. “I guess? It’s my first time playing Shawn Spencer, so I figure it’s a good place to start.”

Jodi belly laughed at that, eyes falling to the cat. “Well, at least you’re admitting you’re a fake upfront so I can be extra humiliated when this gets back to the Mayer.” She reached out to scratched Cas’ ears. “So does that make you Gus?” The cat purred, eyes sinking closed. Dean didn’t want to try and unravel what that was doing to the incubus part of him. “I’ll bring the case file by tomorrow morning.”

“I’d say I look forward to it, but I don’t think that’s appropriate.” 

Jodi winced. “Yeah don’t plan on eating for a while after going over it. Thanks. For your help. And not just laughing in my face.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Sheriff.”

She moved to the door. “Take care.” She paused with her hand on the handle and crooked her fingers at the cat. “You too, Gus. Keep him in line.”


	10. Secrets and Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas has a secret meeting and Dean makes a deal.

When Dean finished with his day, he’d expected to find Castiel upstairs, even mentally prepared himself for the fact that the dude might be naked, but when he entered, the place was silent and empty. Something bumped into his shoulder, and he looked over, finding the unicorn balloon right there, big smiling face so close he felt the static tug at his stubble. Dean rolled his shoulder agitated, tugging it through the door before pushing it closed behind him, and the balloon traveled across the living room on the puff of air. 

Dean shuffled through the living area, listening hard, stretching himself outward but sensed nothing. But not really nothing, more like an absence. A hole where something should be. He glanced at the unicorn as it hovered over the herb garden and shuffled to the kitchen. 

“Cas?” Dean called, voice loud enough that he would have heard Dean clearly if he were anywhere in the apartment. 

Dean checked his own room, found it just as he’d left it, and entered the bathroom, passing the double sinks to stand at the closed door opposite his. Dean swallowed hard, hand resting on the doorknob and took a deep breath as he turned it, the door sticking a bit before it pushed open.

The air was thick with disuse, the must of old books mixed with Sam’s weird pine-smell deodorant cloying, and Dean absolutely  _ ached _ . The bed was neatly made, crime novel still perched on the bedside table, bookmarked at page 72 where it had sat for eight months. The small desk still held all of Sam’s journals and correspondence, the small potted plants on the window sill flourishing more than they ever had before Dean started taking care of them. Sam was shit with plants. Couldn’t even keep a cactus alive.

Movement out the window caught Dean’s eye, light glinting off metal, and Dean stepped closer, peering out the frosty pane. Movement through the stacks, and though Dean couldn’t make out the figure or its features, he knew it was Castiel. Knew it as surely as he knew his own steady gait, and by the route he was taking, Dean was pretty sure he was headed to the garden.

Something tickled against Dean’s forearm, and he turned to find the unicorn balloon at his shoulder again, its string curling around his wrist. Dean clenched his jaw before turning and leaving the room. 

The night was freezing, sky velvety blue with pinpricks of light and no moon to see by. Dean didn’t bother with a coat, just made his way silently back down the stairs and out the back to the stockyard. He disappeared into the maze of cars, the unicorn balloon still attached to his wrist as he moved silently towards the center. The path Castiel had been on was a straighter shot, but the one Dean was traversing was quicker, able to squeeze through a few breaks in the stacks to get to the center faster. 

As Dean approached the perimeter of the garden, one row over from the stacks that shielded it from view, he heard voices, one low and rumbling the other a scathing drawl. Dean wound the ribbon tighter around his arm, tightening it so that the balloon was against his bicep, hand fisted in the excess length. He made no sound as he inched closer to peer through the windows of an old Plymouth Fury. 

Castiel stood at one side of the garden, fully clothed down to the ratty trenchcoat he’d been wearing when Dean met him, seemingly unable to go any further. Across the way, Dean recognized the man from the Assembly hearing, his lip turned up in a sneer. 

“-supposed to catch them, you idiot not blast them into The Empty! Were my instructions not clear?”

Dean saw the huff of breath come out of Cas’ mouth in a cloud, and Dean shifted from foot to foot, knowing the Familiar was frustrated but for once couldn’t feel it. 

“They were very clear. I-“

“Then  _ why _ are there two fewer vessels on this planet, and the Coven has no idea Winchester was ever in danger?”

“Zachariah-”

“You really blew this one, buddy.” The other man wiped at his mouth, the other hand on his hip as he regarded Cas with weary eyes. “You  _ do _ still want to return to Heaven, don’t you?”

Cas huffed again. “Of course, I just-“

“Just what?” Zachariah attempted to move forward but was unable to, the protection around the garden not allowing him to cross. “Remember who your friends are, Castiel. Sovereign or not, Winchester would sooner shove a blade in your chest than keep the Coven from killing you. A demon killed his mother. An angel killed his brother. Two strikes. You’re already out.”

Dean felt his jaw clench so hard his teeth squeaked. Castiel’s head tilted ever so slightly. “Winchester is stronger than you anticipated-“

“Oh, is that so?” Zachariah mocked, crossing his arms over his chest. “A glorified  _ gardener _ blasted Jophriel and Zaraphel into another plane of existence. One unknown to any other entity besides us?” Zachariah clicked his tongue. “You’ve always been a terrible liar, Castiel.”

“I warned you that thinking of Dean only as a glorified gardener would be your downfall, brother-“

“I am  _ not _ your brother,  _ abomination _ .”

“-but you failed to see the truth in my words until you’d lost two foot soldiers as well as the element of surprise. Abomination I may be, but you’ll find the blame for this tactical error lies with you.”

Zachariah sneered again, and Dean held his breath, feeling the wind stir as thunder rumbled in the distance. In a flash of lightning, Dean could see the shadow of wings stretch across the stacks of cars behind the older man, the fury on his face palpable. Another rumble and another flash, and this time Dean could see great wings rising behind Cas, stretching farther, sooty and smudged at the edges but larger by far.

“Let’s not pull out measuring sticks, Zachariah. It’s unbecoming.” Castiel’s wings began to fold, and Dean reached down unconsciously to adjust himself between his legs. 

The balloon bumped into his cheek. “Shut up,” he muttered out of the side of his mouth. 

“Go back to your  _ Sovereign. _ ” Zachariah spit the word as if it were something filthy. “Gain his confidence. Bed him if you must.” The angel held up a finger. “But don’t forget where your loyalties lie.”

“Trust me.” Castiel’s voice was a low rumble that skittered right down Dean’s spine. “I couldn’t if I tried.”

With the rustle of wings, Zachariah was gone, and Dean had to blink hard at the empty space before believing it was true. His eyes fell to Cas again, who remained where he stood, back straight and staring at the patch of dirt across the garden. Dean held his breath, waiting for Cas to snark something at him, to turn and face him, but he didn’t. Instead, he turned and headed back the way he came.

#

Cas was nowhere in sight when Dean re-entered the apartment. He unwound his wrist from the ribbon attached to the unicorn balloon, and it skittered away on the wind tunnel created by the open door. Dean shut it behind him quietly and found he didn’t even have to stretch, the now-familiar presence of Cas settling into the spot in his mind that seemed to be made for two.

He was in the bath, and Dean could feel the warmth of the water sinking into his skin as he crossed the living room. He had to press his palms to the counter top and hang his head at the feeling of bliss as tense muscles unfurled. There was something sensual about it, and Dean wasn’t sure if that was his own assessment or Cas,’ but he could feel the pang of longing tug between his legs despite the ache there. 

_ Bed him if you must… _

Dean didn't trust Cas. Profound bond or not, the Familiar was clearly playing both sides of the game, but was he also playing Dean? He sucked in a deep, sobering breath and ambled his way around the counter to grab a few fish fillets from the freezer. He definitely did not think about Castiel, naked and relaxed in his bathtub only two walls away while he ran cold water over the filets for them to thaw. He also didn’t think about the three… or was it four orgasms he’d had barely 10 hours ago and how intoxicating it had been, a frenzy of need and pleasure he’d been willing to let himself drown in. 

How long was Cas going to stay in there anyway? How was Dean supposed to get anything done with the guy feeling all loose and sated in his mind? The more relaxed Cas seemed to be, the more ratcheted up Dean became. He forced himself to ignore it as he sautéed vegetables and popped the fish in the oven for a quick bake. 

“What’s for dinner.”

“Holy shit!” Dean jumped and just barely got his hand over the cabinet door before it could smack him in the face. “I’m going to put one of those bell collars on you.”

“Your seemingly never-ending repository of cat-related humor does not impress me.”

Castiel slipped onto a barstool, and Dean eyed his naked chest, noting that he was once again wearing a pair of Dean’s sweats. “So…uh… any more info from Angel Radio?”

Cas blinked at him. “No. They’re still trying to find the two rogue angels.”

“Should we, like…” Dean turned away as he grabbed a potholder, going for nonchalant while weaving the protective layer around his inner mind tighter. “I dunno tell the Ethereal Assembly? Aren’t they supposed to be managing this?”

When Castiel didn’t answer, Dean turned to look at him, holding the pan in one hand. Dean could feel Cas thinking, irritation skittering down his spine, but he wasn’t sure over what. Castiel folded his hands on the table.

“I think that might be unwise.”

“Oh yeah?” Dean grabbed a plate from the cabinet and began plating his meal. “Why’s that?”

Cas was silent, watching Dean place the pan in the sink, add salt and pepper before gathering up his plate and leaning against the counter across from him, beginning to eat. Cas frowned. 

“Well, if we want to find out what the angels are up to, involving the Assembly would surely make them clam up and circle ranks.”

Dean nodded, forking food into his mouth. “What about the Grand Coven then? Aren’t they supposed to be handling my protection duty? Who fell down on the job and almost got me killed?”

Cas gave him a wry smile. “You handled yourself pretty well, I’d say.”

Dean snorted, ducking his head as his cheeks flamed. “Tell that to my bedroom wall.” Dean chewed and swallowed, forked in more food. “So, we aren’t going to tell the Coven?”

Cas narrowed his eyes, and Dean licked his lips, about to think of the ocean when he felt a pang of lust tug in his lower belly that wasn’t all his. Cas’ gaze had dropped to his mouth, and Dean reached up, thumbing at his bottom lip as if wiping something away. Cas’ pupils began to grow. The Familiar immediately dropped his head and shook it before looking up again, eyes back to their regular stormy blue.

“Maybe after we can get you to stop blowing the doors off the place every time I scare you.”

Dean set his plate down, irritated. “I told you. I ain’t scared of you.” Dean glared as Cas gave him a placating look, spinning off the barstool to saunter over to the bookshelf. “You’re a sneaky little feline who has a bell collar in its future.”

Cas pulled a volume from the shelf, the lines of his body a distraction Dean didn’t need right now. “How about this?” Cas strode back over. “ _ You _ manage to control your outbursts for one week, and I will wear your stupid bell collar.”

Cas dropped a heavy book on the island between them, and Dean didn’t have to look to know which one it was. He clenched his jaw. After a moment, Dean placed his plate in the sink and ran his hands down his thighs before taking a step forward. He held out his hand. Cas eyed it for a moment before looking back into Dean’s eyes. 

“You got a deal.” 

Dean flexed his elbow, urging his hand further and Cas looked down at it, running his tongue along the inside of his lower lip before he brought up his own hand. Their palms sealed, a tingle shooting up Dean’s arm like he’d never experienced before when making a deal. 

Castiel smirked. “Deal.”


	11. Magic Lessons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas gives Dean some pointers. 
> 
> The Coven requests their presence for an inquiry.

“This is stupid.”

“You know you say that every time you’re struggling.”

“I’m not struggling.”

“Then lift the car.”

Dean glared over at Castiel, perched cross-legged on the rusted hood of a 70s station wagon that was missing its back end. His cheeks were pink, a few flurries dotting the sock hat Dean forced on him before leaving the garage. Dean looked at the row of junkers that blocked all access to the one he’d just sold online. He huffed, rolling his head to Cas again.

“Look, this guy is gonna be here any minute. Can I just use the- “

“You know perfectly well I have  _ no _ problem whatsoever sleeping in your bed. If you want to bail out, I will happily take my week in your sheets while you enjoy the comforts of the couch.”

Dean scowled, grumbling under his breath. “It wouldn’t be so bad if you’d just wear some damn clothes.”

“You also have a spare room you’re not using…”

“I’m using it!” Dean snapped, green eyes flashing and the headlight under Cas’ left knee busted. Cas looked down at it.

“Now, you owe me a steak dinner.”

“I’m not gambling with you  _ anymore! _ ” Dean spat, turning to face the cars in front of him again with a huff but managed to wrangle the surge so that only his fingers sparked. 

He glared at the old Datsun that blocked access to ’64 Cadillac and sucked in a deep breath. Nothing happened. He rolled his shoulders, sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, and glared harder, feeling his toes curling inside his boots, thinking,  _ Move you sonnovah bitch! _ The car gave a shudder as if he’d bumped into it. Dean reached up and rubbed his eyes.

“It’s just like grabbing a book from the shelf across the room.”

Dean jumped, Cas voice right there at his ear, and he knew immediately that Cas was too close, felt the heat of his body right there but not touching. Dean sucked in a deep breath through his nose, all spring sunshine and apple pie despite it being winter in a muddy salvage yard. His jaw flexed, and he swallowed hard, staring hard at the Datsun, willing it to  _ move, goddamnit _ . He dropped his head.

“This is stupid.” Dean made to turn, but Cas placed a firm hand on his shoulder, holding him in place. Dean grit his teeth.

“Where do you feel it?”

Dean blinked. He cut his eyes to the side as if he could see Cas in his peripheral. “What?”

“Your fingers spark sometimes. Is that where it begins? In your hands?” Castiel’s hand slid down Dean’s bicep, ice-cold fingertips skating over the back of his hand before he curled his fingers through Dean’s. 

“Uh… Cas, I mean… I think you’re great, but…” Dean’s heart was kicking hard in his chest, every muscle going taut. “I just don’t feel that way about-“

_ Yes, you do, but that’s not what we’re talking about right now. _

“Get outta my head.”

_ Tell me where and I will. _

Dean shifted from foot to foot. “I… I dunno. All over. Sometimes… my back? I guess?” He rolled a shoulder back. “Can we stop holding hands now?”

Cas shook his hand out from Dean’s, and Dean clenched his fist before shaking it out. “Aim that at the car.”

“Huh?” Dean looked over his shoulder, and Cas’ face was so close to his it was blurred, but he saw his head nod towards the Datsun.

“Your anxiety, discomfort. Whatever, point it over there.”

Dean turned his head, and as soon as his vision focused on the car in question, Castiel’s hand pressed to the center of his back. Dean sucked in a gasp, feeling the warmth of his palm sink through the sweatshirt Dean was wearing and the thin tee underneath. The Datsun lurched forward, the sound of metal on metal screaming in the silence as it cleared itself from the space.

Dean huffed a laugh, his face breaking into a disbelieving grin as he craned his neck to look at Castiel. It fell as soon as he saw the Familiar’s expression, mouth turned down in a frown, eyes narrowed. His head tipped to the side.

“I don’t think the car you’re trying to get to will fit through that space.”

Dean’s expression soured, looking back, and Cas was right. He would have to move the one next to it as well, a 90s pickup with a smashed windshield.

“That’s all you have to say to me?” Dean snapped, glaring at Castiel over his shoulder. “No ‘hey, great job, Dean.’ Just ‘do the other one.’ Jeez, dude.”

“I’m sorry, Dean, you did very well.” Cas gave him a placating pat on the back before resettling his hand. “Now, do the other one.”

“This is stupid.”

“Well, don’t you two look cozy?”

Dean jumped, spinning on his heel to face where the voice came from. He threw out a hand to order Cas behind him or to keep him safe Dean wasn’t sure, and the three cars to the left of where the Datsun had sat moments before all lurched sideways. Well, at least he could get the Caddy out now. His eyes found Rowena standing at the entrance to the small section of vehicles, her unease given away by the deep crimson halo around her despite her smirk. 

“Very good, Dean,” Castiel murmured so only Dean could hear, and that’s when he realized Cas’ hand had fallen to his lower back. A shiver shook through him when Cas took that hand away. “Rowena. It’s nice to see you.”

“Oh, Castiel, you always were a good liar.” Rowena scrunched her nose at him, the turquoise cloud around her going dingy at the lie while the deep red pulsed. 

“What are you doing here?” 

Rowena fisted her hands on her hips. “Dean, delightful as always.” She sashayed closer, her eyes glowing purple as her face stretched in a smile, revealing clenched teeth. “I only just found out. I came as fast as I could.”

“Rowena!” 

Dean and Cas looked past the witch whose shoulders had tensed and found Cato striding confidently forward amidst a cloud of sunny yellow.  _ That can’t be good,  _ Dean thought, taking in the two goons that followed, their own auras both a hazy gray mottled with black.

A question mark floated across the front of Dean’s mind, and he hadn’t realized Cas was there. He elbowed the Familiar lightly. Cas huffed. 

“You got here fast!” Cato exclaimed, stepping up next to her, and both emitted the polite kind of chuckle that made Dean want to put them out of their misery. 

“I told you I’d take care of the summons,” Rowena cut her eyes to Dean and Castiel, aura bleeding almost entirely red but thinning out. “Dean and I had an appointment.”

Cato’s own yellow thinned. “Yes, but it was assigned to  _ me. _ It’s almost as if you have some special interest in the Winchesters. First, all that tutoring with Sam and now thi-“

“You’re not welcome here, Cato.” All turned and looked at Castiel, who was glaring at the Warlock. “You should leave.”

Cato arched a brow and leveled his gaze on Dean. “You should keep a tighter leash on your kitten. Wouldn’t want him to lose that tongue.” Dean’s eyes flattened as Cato’s delight intensified to a golden halo. “I hear he can do great things with it.”

“He’s just respecting house rules.” Dean crossed his arms over his chest, glaring at Cato. “No dicks allowed.”

Cato’s smirk turned lecherous. ‘Now, that’s not what  _ I _ heard.”

Dean stepped forward, fingers sparking. “Maybe you should get your hearing checked.”

The Warlocks made to take a step forward, and Rowena held out both arms. “Gentlemen,  _ please _ .” She huffed and turned her head to Dean and Castiel. “Dean, Castiel, your presence is required for a preliminary hearing requested by the Grand Coven-”

“Are you here in the capacity of the Grand Witch or a member of the Ethereal Assembly?” Castiel inquired, his eyes narrowing, and Dean lifted an eyebrow. 

Cato heaved a sigh. “This is why they asked  _ me _ to bring the summons. Well, I  _ volunteered _ but-“

“Look, I’m real happy they finally gave you a job,” Dean held up a hand, “but I have a customer coming by any minute now, so if you all could be somewhere else, that would be- “

“Your presence is requested  _ now _ , I’m afraid.” Cato grinned.

“Well, that’s too fuckin’ bad, Dumbo.”

“I had very much hoped that would be your answer.” Cato gestured to the sorcerers, and Dean sent out a pulse that made everyone take a step back. Cas placed a hand on Dean’s shoulder.

_ Don’t resist. It’s the Coven. They’re on your side. _

“My ass,” Dean muttered, and he could feel Castiel roll his eyes even though he couldn’t see him.

“What was that?” Cato leaned, his eyes moving between the two in question.

_ It could be about the rogue angels. _

Dean hummed. “I was saying, ‘My ass isn’t going anywhere with you goons.’ We’ll meet you there.”

#

“Why do they keep having these in Hell?” Dean muttered as the door to the underworld opened in the hillside. He was met with a blast of sooty air that made his stomach roll over, saliva filling his mouth.

_ They won’t harm you. It’s just a hearing. _ Cas’ hand brushed Dean’s seemingly on accident. Dean cut his eyes at him.

Rowena, the one who’d opened the door, stood to the side and grinned at Dean, gesturing him forward. “Rage before beauty, love.”

Dean returned a tart smile before he trudged forward and followed the Sorcerer that led the way. 

Dean spent 40 years down here but had never gotten used to the screams. In the beginning, they’d unsettled him, gnawed at him, ran through him like a knife. As the years passed, when he finally broke, they were like a siren song, startling and sweet, a temptation he couldn’t help but give in to. 

Sweat gathered on his upper lip as they were lead to the Palace of the King, bypassing the main hall where Dean could hear Crowley shouting at whoever was in there. Dean felt substantially better knowing that asshole was also having a shit day.

“Dean, if you’ll follow…” Rowena trailed, eyes on the Sorcerer in front of them, and frowned. “Whoever that is, I will be with you in a moment.”

“Not necessary, Rowena,” Cato was rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. “I’m questioning him. You can sit in with the Familiar if you insist, but Olivette is assigned to him.”

Rowena’s aura pulsed from crimson to burgundy, dark with her anger. “You do not give me orders, Cato. I am the Grand-“

“Grand Witch, yes, which is why it would be inappropriate for you to be part of these proceedings. Your duties far exceed the importance of questioning a witch of the first order and forced Familiar. I’m sure the Small Council will agree…”

Rowena’s face turned sour as the burgundy swirled around her head. Dean tried not to take pleasure in the fact that she was seething. “Why are they separating us?”

“Part of the inquiry will assess your progress. We must know how you manage on your own.”

Cas’ teeth were clenched. “Part of my duty as his Familiar is to aid him. What’s the point if you separate us?”

Cato didn’t look at Castiel, addressing his answer to Dean instead. “As your inquisitor, I have the right to decide who is in the room. I wish to see how you’ve progressed since taking on a Familiar. If you aren’t showing appropriate progress, we may be compelled to assign you another.”

“You can’t do that.” Dean felt his stomach lurch, and at first, he thought it was Cas’ reaction, but as his gut continued to churn, he realized it was actually him.

_ They musn’t know, Dean.  _

“I just started to tolerate this one.” Dean snorted and jutted a thumb over his shoulder at Cas.

“Yes, well, in any case,” Cato waved a disinterested hand and gestured, “come.”

Dean looked at Cas, Adam’s apple moving in his throat, and Cas held his gaze, more passing between them in a look than any conversation could cover. Cas gave a slow nod of his head, eyes like an X-ray, leveling out Dean’s heart rate as he felt the Familiar take up residence in his head.

_ You’ll be fine. _

_ Will you, though _ ? Dean thought and felt his consciousness shift as his voice echoed in his own head. 

Cas lifted an eyebrow.  _ Don’t worry about me. This was once my home, remember? And Olivette is one of the best conjurers around, but her ability to use logic suffers because of it. _

_ Sam had great logic. _ Dean frowned, not realizing he’d thought it until Cas responded.

_ Sam, as you know, was often the exception to most rules. _

A smile tugged at the corner of Dean’s mouth, and Cas mirrored it. “Don’t I know it.” Dean held out his hand, and Cas looked down at it before taking it in his own. They squeezed, eyes still on each other.  _ Don’t back yourself into a corner. You need to throw me under the bus, do it. _

Cas gave a small huff of exasperation and squeezed harder.  _ You are my Sovereign, you are the sword, and I am your shield- _

_ God, please don’t start with that shit again. _

- _ and I think you should be far more focused on not blowing anything up in there. _

_ Thanks for the vote of confidence there, Thackery Binx. _

_ I don’t understand that ref- _

“Gentleman if you would be so kind as to stop gazing longingly into each other’s eyes, I’d like to get this show on the road.” Dean blinked and glared at Cato, who was looking at his watch. 

“You know if you can’t figure out how to get rid of that Elephant Ear, you can always find a plastic surgeon.” Dean gestured at his own ear, and Cato’s face soured significantly. “They really aren’t meant to hang around this long. Starting to look like you got saggy ball sacks on either side of your head.” Dean gave him a winning smile and a hard clap on his shoulder as he passed to follow the Sorcerer down the hall. He lifted a fist in the air. “Give ’em hell, Cas!”


End file.
